


Twelve Women of Azeroth

by AstridMyrna



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Abortion, Adult Fears, Animal Abuse, Animals Make Everything Better, Bisexuality, Child Abuse, Child Death, Death, Depression, Drama/Comedy, Female Character of Color, Female Friendship, Female Protagonist, Female-Centric, Feminist Themes, Heterosexuality, Homosexuality, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Intersectionality, Long Fanfiction is Long, Menstruation, Multi, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romantic Female/Female Relationships, Romantic Female/Male Relationships, Sexual Fluidity, Sexuality Crisis, Suicide, Trans Female Character, pansexuality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-02-23 11:52:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 23
Words: 62,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2546522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstridMyrna/pseuds/AstridMyrna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The life and times of twelve women of the (at the time when this fic was first conceived) twelve playable races of Azeroth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tamatanga

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to this masochistically long fic I have conceived of and am compelled to finish. The first twelve chapters will be introductory chapters to the main characters before moving on to finish one story and then the next and the next etc., until the epilogue. I hope it satisfies your need for more women and women's stories in your Warcraft, and I will strive to make it the best that I can.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tamatanga is a goblin who's finally got her life together until an unexpected surprise shows up and destroys it all.

            Tamatanga wiped her sore eyes with the palms of her hands and blinked. She stared at the pineapple-pattern bed sheets that she and two other goblins rested on. She closed her eyes again, trying to remember what had happened last night, but it hurt too much to think clearly; her brain was still soaking up last night cocktails.

            “Yo, it’s time to head out,” Bisou crowed from downstairs. “Party’s over.”

            Tamatanga raised her head and tried to sit up, the other goblins snoring.

            “Hey Flash, Nib,” Tamatanga leaned over and poked her friends’ shoulders. “Time to get up.”

            Flash groaned and pulled on his ears. Nib rolled off the bed and crashed into a third goblin on the floor.

            “Oof! What’cha fall on me for, jerk?” Jaz shouted at Nib.

            “Why’d you have to lay right there, jerk?” Nib yelled back.

            “Shaddup, just shaddup,” Tamatanga moaned as she rubbed her temples.

            “I’ll make mincemeat outta all of…” Flash began to snore.

            The door flew open and Bisou strutted into the bedroom in her neon pink bathrobe.

            “Well, well, well,” she snickered. “What do we have here? More importantly, what are you all still doin’ here?”

            There was a collective grumble, and Bisou responded by opening the curtains to let the morning sunshine in.

            “My eyes, my eyes!” Nib wailed as the others moaned.

            One by one the men shuffled out, but as Tamatanga was about to leave, Bisou’s arm wrapped around hers.

            “You sure was a busy girl last night,” Bisou whispered in Tamatanga’s ear. “So who was best?”

            Tamatanga blinked. “I… _what?_ ”

            “Don’t be coy, now. There was no other goblin but you when I took you here last night but when I come in this morning there’s an extra three.”

            “No…no, it’s not that. Not that at all,” Tamatanga said and ran her fingers through her coarse blue hair. “They’re just my friends, got it? Why you even let them in my room when I was out like that—”

            “So, nothin’ happened?” Bisou ears drooped.

            “Nah. Trust me, I would have remembered if somethin’ like _that_ happened.”

>>> 

            Three months had passed after Bisou’s party, and in that time Tamatanga found herself a new line of work.

            “CAREFUL!” Foreman Tork shrieked as Tamatanga carried a rather bulky crate down the dock. “D’you even know what’s in there?”

            “No,” she answered, setting the wooden crate down before him. “What’s in it?”

            “Somethin’ that might explode if you’re not careful with it.”

            “It says ‘pool ponies’ on the side.”

            “Yeah, well, the boss likes to reuse his boxes, but sometimes a stupid, inattentive worker such as yourself forgets to re-label the box. So what used to be a box for packing pool ponies is now a box for dynamite or fireworks or—what are you doin’!”

            While Tork had been blathering on, Tamatanga took out her crow bar and broke open the top of the box. A herd of deflated pool ponies smiled up at them.

            “Maybe they’re explosive,” Tamatanga said and grinned.

            The foreman rolled his eyes. “Ha ha. Now you’ve gone wastin’ time. Put that lid back on before I smack you with it.”

            She put the lid back on the box and held it steady as her superior nailed it back together. Her breath caught as she felt an invisible stab in her abdomen.

            “Ow,” she said, folding over the box.

            Torq lowered his hammer. “What’s the matter now?”

            “Nothin’.  Just a stomach cramp.”

            Tamatanga gritted her teeth and straightened up. Her cramp had been bugging her for the last couple of days, getting slightly worse as time passed. But she snorted and ignored the pain, knowing that she’d leave a bad impression on her new boss if she went to the doctor so soon after hiring her. He might think she was too weak for the job and sack her on the spot.

            After Tork nailed up the box, Tamatanga lifted it again only to drop it on the foreman’s foot. She dropped to her knees, clutching her stomach.

            “YEOOOOW,” the foreman screamed. Gasping, he lifted the crate up enough to slip his foot out. “This is coming out of your paycheck!”

            She felt warm fluid trickle down her leg. She looked up at the seething foreman.

            “Wh-what’s happening?” she asked him then gasped at the sudden shock of pain.

            “Hey, kid, you all right?” The foreman stepped closer to her.

            “I…I…OW!”

            She rolled on her back and the cramp stopped, but now there was so much pressure inside her she felt like she could pop out of her skin like puss from a pimple.

            “Someone get this kid to a doctor,” the foreman called out.

            Two workers came up to Tamatanga, one picking her up by the shoulders and the other by the ankles.

            “Move it, move it!” the foreman said before going back to his business.

            Tamatanga twisted her blue pigtails in her fingers as she was carried out of Bilgewater port and dropped off at the nearest doctor’s office, which belonged to a dermatologist.

            “So what’s the problem?” he asked as they laid her down on the rock-hard operating table. “Wait, don’t tell me. Perspiration, vaginal fluid leakage, a little swelling around the stomach area—you ate one of Whizz’s molten cheese sticks, didn’t you?”

            Just as he put a hand on her sweaty abdomen, she felt it squirm. There was something actually moving inside her. Without thinking what it was, she tried to push this _thing_ out.

            “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” said the doctor. “I think I see what the problem is.”

            He peeled off her ragged pants and bent down to where the thing emerged. There was a large splash and most of the pressure was gone. Tamatanga let out a heavy sigh of relief, even though she still felt sore. The doctor popped up with something green, tiny, and squirming in his hands.

            “Well looky here, it’s a boy.”

            The slimy, crying thing was put on her chest. The realization hit her that this thing with wet amber eyes glaring at her was her son, and she hadn’t even realized she had carried him for the last three months. She touched its tiny ears, which were flat at the sides of his head. He scratched at her and started to cry for what she guessed was for milk.

            “All right,” the doctor said over the baby’s shrill cries. “Well now, I believe you owe me some macaroons for this successful delivery.”

            “Take this thing instead.”

            “What?”

            She held the infant up. “Take this thing instead of macaroons.”

            “I don’t want your kid.”

            “Well, I don’t have any dough on me, so you may as well take the kid.”

            The doctor sighed. “I bring a little miracle into the world and what do I get? Backtalk! You got any moolah at home?”

            Tamatanga flushed a deeper green. “No, but you can talk to my boss at Bilgewater port. I’m supposed to get my first pay check tomorrow.”

            “I can work with that.”

            He took her personal information and left, but not before locking all the doors and windows from the outside. Trapped, Tamatanga thought of trying to make her escape by climbing up the chimney, but that was probably locked up too. She sighed and unbuttoned her top to let the baby nurse. He curled up on her chest and suckled. Gently, Tamatanga pulled over her ragged brown shirt over his bony body. He was small. He was so small that he could fit in Tamatanga’s hand. Small as he was, he seemed to eat as much as a full-grown goblin.  Tamatanga’s stomach growled at her and she felt a little dizzy.

            She didn’t know. Her cycle was still going and still erratic and she took the swelling for fat because she could afford more than a crust of bread for the first time in a long time. Her mind reeled trying to think of pregnancy symptoms and how she misread them. She stopped thinking altogether. It didn’t matter what her symptoms were, because now there was a full-term infant nursing in her arms.

            Her eyes closed and her head tilted forward, but that didn’t make that sloshy sick feeling in the pit of her stomach go away. The feeling stuck with her after the doctor came back and let her go home because her paycheck was just enough to pay for the delivery bill.

            The sloshy feeling grew hot and clung to the inside of her throat and nearly burst out of her when she stepped into Drudgetown (then again, that was everyone’s reaction when walking through the oil-slicked slums). When she slinked under her green tent and sat on her worn blanket, the hot feeling cooled into a warm, hard lump that she couldn’t swallow down.

            After nibbling on some maggoty cheese and drinking rainwater from a rusting Kaja’cola can, her stomach turned faster. The baby suckled on her for a little while and cried. Tamatanga burped him, and he spat up all over himself and his mother.

            “I should have dumped you on the way over here,” Tamatanga grumbled as she wiped the mess off her shirt. She wiped his chin with her thumb and flicked it off on the dirt. She picked up the baby and turned him this way and that, but he didn’t look like anyone except himself. His stick arms and legs waved in the damp air.

            “You wouldn’t by chance know who your pop is, do ya?” she asked him, but all he did was stare at her with his amber eyes, which were almost the exact same color as hers.  There was a sudden cry from a child a couple of tents over, and the baby’s eyes welled up with tears.

            “No, no, no. I don’t need you crying too,” she said and held him close to her chest so he wouldn’t have to hear the eventual crack that silenced the entire slums. Soon the slums came back to life again: goblins belched, spat, and moaned; occasionally someone came around jingling the coins in his pockets. The stench of hand-rolled cigarettes mingled with the smell of crude oil.

            Much later in the night, when most of the commotion had tapered off and the smoke faded away, Tamatanga allowed herself to cry.

>>> 

            “What is that on your back?” Tork said, looking up from his clipboard.

            Tamatanga pivoted on the balls of her feet, hoping to hide the baby she had strapped on her back with her blanket.

            “Nothin’. Now what d’you have for me to do?”

            “Tamatanga, I can’t have you on the site with that kid on your back, unless it can get some work done,” Tork pointed to the other workers. “Otherwise it’s just a major distraction and encourages laziness!”

            “Sure he can work, he just needs to grow a little. Actually, he’s a pretty strong little guy, and less than a day old! I’m sure if you raised him yourself, he’d be the best—”

            “No, Tamatanga. I already bought three last month, and now I’m over budget because of it.  Nope, I’m done helping people out. Get on outta here.”

            “But—”

            “Now. If we’re hiring again, you’ll be the first to know.”

            Ears drooping, Tamatanga left the port and headed up Swindle Street. As she was staring at the billboard with an angry weasel and his bombs, she bumped into Bisou. The pink-haired goblin fixed her red boa and took off her jewel-encrusted sunglasses to get a better look at Tamatanga.

            “I thought it was you! Aren’t you supposed to be off workin’ or something?”

            Putting on a strained smile, Tamatanga said, “Well, I was, but then I was dropped.”

            “Dropped? Why?”

            The baby sneezed. Bisou shuffled behind Tamatanga on her four-inch heels, and gasped when she saw the infant.

            “You said that didn’t happen,” she said, her manicured hands covering her mouth.

            “I didn’t think it did happen—you saw me, I was completely smashed that night. I barely remember what happened for most of the party.”

            “Well, then, er…cute kid.” Bisou straightened up and slipped her sunglasses back on. “Anyway, I’ve got to get goin’—”

            “Wait, wait! Since you’re here and I’m out of work, maybe you can help me figure out who the pop is.”

            “Look, I was very, _very_ busy that night. It’s not my job to know who mingled with who.”

            “You must’ve had a guest list.”

            “I invited _everybody_ and people came and went. Did you ask those three friends of yours who were sleeping in your room?”

            “Not yet.”

            Bisou rolled her eyes and strutted down the street.

            “I…I don’t know what to do,” Tamatanga called after her. “You’ve always been like a big sis to me and maybe you could help—”

            “I can’t. Bye.”

            Bisou disappeared in the crowd. Tamatanga swallowed the hot lump in her throat and looked to see what part of Swindle Street she was at. She found the weasel billboard again and turned left to go to the lawn flamingo shop Nib worked at. After passing by the army of rocking plastic flamingos littered on the front lawn, she knocked on the door. Nib answered.

            “Heeey, how you doin’,” he started, grinning, then looked down at the baby on her back. He squinted his red eyes, and his smile fell. “What’s that you got there?”

            “Nib, can we go inside to talk?”

            He leaned on the door with one elbow. “No, right here’s fine. What can I do for you?”

            “You remember Bisou’s party?”

            “Barely.”

            “Well, you should remember waking up in the same room as me and Flash and Jaz. You even fell on Jaz.”

            Picking something out of his thick yellow nails with his teeth, he grunted, “Nope.”

            “Even if you don’t remember, I need to know if you…if you’re his pop.”

            “I’m not. And why are you asking? You should know.”

            “I had a little too much to drink that night—”

            “Not my problem.”

            Eyebrows raised, she said, “Why are you being such a jerk?”

            His red eyes examined Tamatanga from head to toe. He smirked and ran his grimy fingers through his bleach blond hair.

            He said, “Why are you accusin’ me of being this kid’s pop if you can’t even ‘remember’ who you slept with? I like bein’ pals with you and all, but I’m not gonna let you take advantage of my good nature. Geez, Tamatanga, I thought you was different than those other broads.”

            Tamatanga stood with her mouth open to say something, but nothing would come out. Her blood ran cold as she gaped at Nib. They both heard a short grunt from inside.

            “The boss is callin’ me. I gotta go.”

            She nodded as he closed the door in her face.

>>> 

            For a while Tamatanga plodded along the side of the road, and for a good hour she circled Kajaro field during a footbomb game. The noise of metal shredding metal and footbombs exploding on impact helped distract her from her thinking too much as she walked.

            When the game was over and the after-game brawls began, a motorcycle rumbled next to her. The goblin driving it was Jaz in what remained of his bright green footbomb uniform.

            “Baby, baby, what’s the matter?” He saw the baby on her back. “Oh.”

            “I was talkin’ to Nib and now he thinks I’m some gold digger.”

            His head jerked back. “Er…well, I’m sure he’s just overreacting. Come on, I’ll get you something to drink at my place.”

            She hopped in the black sidecar, putting the infant in her lap so he wouldn’t be squashed. “Thanks.”

            They rode down all the way to the coast to get to get to Jaz’s place, which was a good-sized metal house brimming with well-polished footbomb trophies and stacks of Kaja’cola. As Tamatanga sat on the orange shag rug (the MVP trophies shaped as metal shredders had claimed the couch and chairs), Jaz came out with something extra special.

            “Kaja’cola _bottles?_ ” Tamatanga gasped as Jaz handed her a cold one.

            “Yup. I knew it’d cheer you up,” he answered as he uncapped the bottles. “I’m supposed to drink ten of the Kaja’cola cans you see, as part of my contract, but every now and again the KTC sends me a little present as thanks for promoting their product so well.”

            Tamatanga looked down at her soda; it was completely flat. That and there wasn’t an acrid smell to it like a fresh can of cola had.

            “How old is this thing?” she said.

            “Probably about twenty years. Cheers.”

            They both drank and sat for a minute.

            “Any ideas?” said Jaz.

            “Nope,” she sighed and took another swig. “Thanks for the bottle, anyway.”

            “No problem. So what’s all this about Nib thinkin’ you’re a gold digger?”

            She explained what had happened down at Nib’s place. Jaz looked away from her, fiddling with his Super Bomb ring as she talked.

            “And it really rattled me, y’know? Like, we were becoming really good pals and then this had to happen. I’m just tryin’ to figure out what happened to me that night,” Tamatanga said and shrugged.

            “He’s had trouble with broads before, as you can tell,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I usually stay out of those types of problems. But maybe the way you asked if he was the pop or not made it sound like you were accusin’ him when you have no hard evidence to back your accusations up.”

            Tamatanga lifted up the drooling baby. “What do you call this?”

            “What I mean is, having an actual recollection of who you slept.”

            Tamatanga lowered the baby back in her lap. “Well Jaz, do you remember anything from that night?”

            “It was a while ago and I had a lampshade on my head for half the night.”

            “You know what I’m talkin’ about.”

            He set down his empty bottle. “I didn’t touch you, Tamatanga. I didn’t even know you were in there until I woke up the next morning. Have you asked Flash yet?”

            “No.”

            “Well, ask him, and if he gives you a hard time, you can come back to me if you need to.”

            “Thanks.”

            “Here, I’ll give you a ride to his place, too.”

            She thanked him again, and as they were leaving, she slipped her bottle cap in her back pocket. The cap was probably worth a few crusts of bread, she figured.

>>> 

            “That’s not my brat,” Flash said.

            Tamatanga frowned. “I never said he was.”

            “And yet you bring it over. Do you not see my other brats?” He pointed at the mob of little goblins tearing up his once cultivated artificial lawn. His two wives waved at him as they sunbathed in front of their round copper house that was barely big enough to fit them all. “I’ve got ten— _ten,_ Tamatanga—and another one on the way. You’d think I’d bump uglies and risk another one from a different woman? I’m having enough trouble trying to sell numbers Five and Six than having to try and sell Twelve. That number doesn’t even look like me!”

            He pointed his long, arched nose and prodded the baby’s short, upturned one. The infant started to cry.

            Rocking the baby, Tamatanga huffed, “I’ve already talked to Nib and Jaz and—”

            “Either one of them is lying, or none of us is that brat’s pop. Look, do you even know what you’re like when you’re drunk? You’re a little too easy-goin’. Someone probably thought you were looking for a good time, gave you one, and left before you conked out. You’ll probably never see that gob again.” He sighed and threw a bony arm around Tamatanga’s shoulders. “Listen, you’re a good friend of mine. Almost like a niece to me. Almost. And between you and me, Gallywix is always lookin’ for some ‘investments’ he can put to good use, and for a good price too. Now you don’t have to sell your ‘investment,’ but you’re just going to lose out in the long run if you don’t do something about it, and soon. Time is money.”

            The infant finally calmed down and fell asleep in the crook of his mother’s arm.

            “Yeah, yeah, I know,” she said. “It’s just a lot to take in right now.”

            “Tell me about it,” he said and patted her on the back. “Now if you excuse me, I need to run to job number three so that my family and most importantly, myself, can have a bit of bread for breakfast tomorrow.”

            He turned away from her to yell at his kids good-bye.

>>> 

            Tamatanga knocked at the red front door of Bisou’s house and waited. Her ears pricked at the sound of muffled music coming from the mansion, her thoughts slowly going back to that night…

            “Whaddaya want?” said the young goblin girl who had opened the door. She stumbled and held onto the door for support. Polka music blasted through the door. The baby on her back started to fuss.

            “Is Bisou here?” Tamatanga shouted.

            “WHA?”

            “IS. BISOU. HERE.”

            “Yeah,” the girl pointed at the green spiral staircase that was further down the hall. “She’s upstairs.”

            The girl fell backwards, spilling her martini over her bustier. Tamatanga walked around her and hopped up the stairs. The second floor was a long hallway lit by red lanterns; the passed out or chatting goblins along its walls like black blobs in a sea of red. She passed by the door where she had slept in months before, and there was a greasy sock on its handle. She walked down to the far end of the hall to a door with a red boa shaped as a heart nailed to it; it was Bisou’s room. Tamatanga knocked on the door.

            Bisou opened it and stared at Tamatanga. When neither spoke for some time, Bisou said, “Well?”

            “None of them are his pop,”

            Tamatanga’s eyes stung from hot tears wanting to come out. Bisou’s pink bottom lip quivered and she pulled Tamatanga into her cluttered room, “Oh, poor baby. Come on in. Here, you can sit here.”

            She pushed Tamatanga on a slightly molding couch with a pineapple pattern. Bisou sat on the edge of her silk bed with real rose petals on it. White light from a paper latern fell on the goblins and piles of candy wrappers and teddy bears. The floor vibrated from the music below.

            “That’s better. So they all said they weren’t the daddy?”

            “Yes.”

            Bisou smoothed out her pink bangs. “Well, I can’t say that this isn’t the first time something like this has happened. That’s why I was a little…er…careful around ya today.  I thought you were trying to blame me for your little problem.”

            Tamatanga’s infant, now curled up comfortably in his mother’s lap, stared at Bisou.

            “Blame you?” said Tamanga.

            “Of course. It happens all the time. I throw a party, a girl has too much fun and has a couple of problems because of it, then comes over to me and blames me for having the party when really it was her own fault for being drunk and wearing too tight of a skirt. I mean, enjoy yourself, sure, but don’t blame me because you drank too much and your legs just ‘happened’ to be wide open.”

            “Well, no. It’s not your fault,” Tamatanga added.

            “Exactly. I’m glad we see eye to eye.”

            “Bisou, am I too friendly when I’m smashed?”

            “I guess so, yes. That’s probably how this whole mess started anyway.”

            Tamatanga bit the inside of her cheek. “Flash was saying the same thing.”

            “Of course. How do you think he got hitched in the first place?”

            “What?”

            “I don’t know the finer details, of course, but when he was younger he’d give Fiona two drinks for every one he drank at parties. Did he give you anything?”

            “He gave me one, I think, at the beginning of the party. Then…” A memory crawled back into her mind. It was faint, but Tamatanga could see it. “I went to the bartender and had another, and talked to Nib for a bit. We had a couple shots cuz he just got promoted. I wandered around for a bit and saw Jaz, and he gave me something he smuggled off one of the cargo loads. After that, everything goes fuzzy.”

            They were quiet. A saxophone squealed below them, and there were thumps coming from the next room.

            “So you _do_ remember something from that night,” Bisou said in a lowered voice.

            “What do you mean by that?”

            “Nothing. I’m just glad you were finally able to remember something, is all. So, what are you going to do with that kid? You aren’t going to keep it, are you?”

            Tamatanga felt her innards heat up and twist themselves into knots.

            “I don’t know yet.”

            “Well, you have no income, no real house, and no mate or anything like that. And this is your first, right?”

            “Right.”

            “The best thing to do is to sell it or just get rid of it and forget this whole thing ever happened.”

            Tamatanga stood up and said, “I think I should go.”

            Bisou squinted her violet eyes and smiled. “Sure. You’d want to get home before it gets too dark to see where you’re going, or who you’re walking with.”

            As Tamatanga left she slammed the door behind her, the boa heart swinging from side to side.

>>> 

            Tamatanga walked in the exact opposite direction of her home. In the thick of Swindle Street, men walked, chewed, spat, chatted, jingled their wallets that caught the sharp eyes of other men and women—including Tamatanga. She held her infant closer to her chest and kept her eyes peeled. Anyone of these men could have been his father, could’ve taken Tamatanga to a quiet spot when she was so cross-eye drunk she didn’t realize what he was doing to her. Silently, a new thought crept into her mind. She _would_ have remembered, smashed or not, if something like that had happened. But if she was asleep, and she was a deep sleeper, he could have done all sorts of things without her knowing it.

            She saw it in her mind’s eye: a goblin, his face cloaked in shadows, reeking of alcohol and expensive cologne, stumbling into her bedroom as she slept. Maybe he knew who she was; maybe he thought she was someone else, she didn’t know. There were too many maybes. Maybe it was Nib or Jaz or Flash thinking she was someone else; made a mistake about whom they were fondling. She had to think that they had made a mistake and were too ashamed to admit it; had to think that her friends wouldn’t deliberately take advantage of her, because they were slaves together, and friends, and pals, and…

            Cold seawater washed over Tamatanga’s feet, waking her up from the terrible nightmares that swam in her head. She panted from sprinting all the way from Bisou’s place to the end of the beach. The sun was setting, its orange rays glittering off the dark blue ocean’s surface; it hurt her eyes as she stared at it.

            The infant started to cry and grabbed at her breast. Tamatanga stepped back far enough for the waves to lick her toes and sat down to nurse.

            “Ow,” she murmured, taking out the metal bottle cap from her back pocket.

            _I knew it’d cheer you up._

            Jaz had been kind to her, and back then she thought he was doing it because he was her friend. Now, she didn’t know if it was his way of apologizing for whatever horrible thing he may have done or was trying to buy her off. She pulled her arm back to throw it out into the ocean.

            She couldn’t do it.

            Sighing, she put the bottle cap in her front pocket. The baby stopped suckling and began to cry. As she burped him, the baby whacked her face with one of his waving arms. Knowing she’d have to give him up suddenly made her feel very lonely. Her legs folded up, she laid the infant on her thighs and stroked his belly. He gave her a quick, odd smirk.

            “Damn it,” she said, touching his tiny ears with her thumbs. “I should have dropped you at the get-go. But y’know, they say that the first is the hardest.”

            She cradled him and stood up. The sun slipped underneath the waves, but she could still see its orange-purplish light coming from the horizon.

            “C’mon, let’s get back home,” she whispered in his ear.

            Tamatanga trudged back into city, already lit up by the many-colored light bulbs and buzzing with the cackles and whispers of the goblins.


	2. Topasannah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Topasannah is a tauren girl just taking her first steps to be recognized as an adult in her tribe when a crazed, wandering tauren seeks help within her village, only to be turned away.

            The young tauren Topasannah snorted as she felt another cramp coming on. Her elder cousin, Grenna, rubbed the elven-year-old’s back. Taking in a great whiff of the hot, heavy air of the menstrual lodge, Topasannah mentally tried to fight off the cramp. The other women in the hut continued to sweat in silence in the round hut woven out of dried grasses. Topasannah and her cousin sat right in front of smoldering pyre of hot rocks, which gave no light to the small hut. The air was so close and hot. Topasannah felt her eyes roll and her mind sink in and out of consciousness. She was sick of all the fruit she was given to eat while the others were allowed to have fish and bread. Her mind tried to remember why she was only given fruit to eat, but it was too sluggish. After three days of sitting in a dark, hot tent she didn’t feel like much of anything anymore.

            Soon enough the cramp flowed away with the dribble of blood that stained the dirt she sat on. Her tongue flopping in her mouth, she whispered in her cousin’s ear, “How much longer?”

            “Until your flow ends,” she whispered back.

            “When will that be?”

            “This is your first, so I do not know. Be patient.”

            Topasannah sagged on Grenna’s shoulder and closed her eyes. She wanted to snip back, but Grenna was also hurting with her. But Grenna was just a couple of years older than her; if the adage was true, then Grenna was granted an extra inch of patience for every year of her life. Topasannah breathed in the sweet smell of the fire and felt herself sink into sleep, dreaming of grilled sole, sweet corn cakes, bitter greens…

 

TTT

 

            As soon as her father Imash made the announcement to the rest of the tribe that she had finished her first period and was purified, she was allowed to dig into the mountains of sizzling food laid out before her.  The other tauren laughed and cheered for her as she ate faster than was polite, but she didn’t care. She loved rolling her tongue in the salty, the bitter, the not-fruits of her first meal since her coming of age. Her mother, Owalan, and father sat on either side of her in the large circle of her blood relatives. Her gray mother sat tall and took small bites of sole while her chestnut-brown father drank deep from his firewater gourd. Topasannah ate off a large clay plate made by her mother that held the different foods her family and friends had made for her to eat. They all sat outside under the warm late-spring sun, encircled by the long hide tents that blocked the view of the ocean from their cliff summer home.

            Her greatmother sat next to Owalan and her eldest uncle sat next to Imash, and the rest of the chain around the pile of food was comprised of uncles, aunts, and cousins old enough to sit with the adults. Topasannah spied her friends sitting in other circles as she sipped her wine cup and felt a bloom of pride.

            _I may have been the last to grow up_ , she thought, _but I have the best celebration because all my friends are here._

She lowered her cup. Yes, most of the youth her age were now old enough to join in the feast with the rest of the adults, except for Rontu. He was the nephew of her adult friend Tanta that recently came to live with her tribe. She remembered watching the young black tauren with white speckles down his back escorted to the chieftain.  He only looked straight ahead. After a private meeting with the chieftain, Rontu was briefly introduced to the rest of the tribe and lived with his aunt’s family ever since. Now he was looking after the younger boys as they ate in his family’s tent during the feast.

            A few tauren turned their heads to look down the green slope that led to the nearby woods. Topasannah turned her head too and saw a tauren with his horns cut off staggering towards the village. Blood and dirt matted his brown fur, particularly around his hocks that glistened bright red with blood. Worst of all he carried the insignia that read as NO ONE in Taur-ahe. The red insignia was burnt into his forehead, and the two white disks of what remained of his horns had the insignia carved into them. With every heavy step the tauren took, his tongue bounced in his open mouth.

            “Who is he, Mother?” she whispered as her father stood up with several other men and women to block the strange tauren’s path. Owalan said nothing.

            Topasannah watched as the guards slowly pushed the strange tauren away. Once the stranger fell over his own hooves, but they did nothing to help him up. The stranger began to crawl away, and she heard a terrible strangled sound come from him. She could not see what happened, as the tauren formed a great wall between the rest of the village and the stranger, but she could hear him.

            “RONTU,” the stranger cried out in a hoarse voice. “I want to see you again, Rontu! I am so sorry—”

            Her father stepped in and said, “Leave this place and leave him in peace!”

            “YOUR FATHER IS WAITING FOR YOU, RONTU!”

            Now the wall folded in and pushed the stranger farther away. Topasannah watched the wall move to the edge of the forest. Gossip flew around the circles as fast and wild as wind. Topasannah sat speechless.

            “He is an exile, Topasannah,” Owalan said in a low, cool voice. “Though we may not know what he has done, we take no chances.  If the Earth Mother has refused him mercy, then so shall we.”

            Topasannah nodded. Her mother had told her stories of the exiled, how they wandered the land starving and crazy because the Earth Mother took her love away from them because they had done something terrible. Still, she could not help but feel pity for this exile and how much he suffered. Then again, she reasoned with herself, she did not know what he had done.

            “I trust you will be sensitive to Rontu, and not badger him about his father,” her mother added, her dark green eyes eying Topasannah.

            The younger tauren nodded and watched the guards return to the village. The tauren fell silent as the guards returned to their seats in the great circles. Topasannah’s greatmother, Echehu, leaned forward, her long white braids swinging slowly under her.

            “You did well, Imash,” the elderly tauren said, smiling. Her father nodded his dark head and they continued eating.

            When the hours-long meal was over, the sky was a mix of light pink and orange. Now the children were allowed to sit with the adults, even Rontu, to help end the event with fireworks and dancing. Topasannah was allowed to light the first firework, which flew into the air like a silver streak and blasted open into red sparks, marking her first day as an adult. This time next year, she would embark on a vision quest to learn of her true work and light another firework as a sign of maturation.  Her throat grew hot and she felt a little dizzy from the realization that she was now an adult and that as she grew older, her parents and greatmother grew older too. Once the dizziness passed, her heart sighed out of sadness.

            “Now the years will slip by fast,” laughed Echehu, who bent down to kiss her Topasannah on the cheek, “but they will be good years, Earth Mother willing.”

            Topasannah picked up another firework and looked around the village. Already the air had a smoky taste to it from the clump of fireworks that exploded in the air. Children shrieked with laughter and their parents clapped at the little light show they made. Sitting far away from the small crowd and next to the open door of his cousin’s tent, Rontu watched the fireworks in silence.

            “Would you like this one?” Topasannah asked him, holding out the small firework.

            He looked at her, at the firework, and back at her again. He took the firework and plopped it in his lap.

            “I’ll light it when it’s darker,” he said, his chin on his knees. “Thank you, though. And congratulations.”

            “Thank you. I’m Topasannah, daughter of Imash and Owalan.”

            “Rontu, son of Pelua.”

            “You’re Tanta’s nephew?”

            “Yes,” he said and smiled. “I’m proud to say she is. She has given me great comfort over the last few months.”

            “That’s wonderful! But perhaps I can give you comfort too. May I be your friend?”

            He looked away from her, scratching his white-splotched nose.

            “Thank you. I—”

            “TAUREN!” bellowed Rontu’s father from beneath the cliff, “BROTHERS AND SISTERS! SON!”

            No more fireworks were lit. Instead the tauren huddled by the cliff, Topasannah squished next to her mother and in front of her father, watching the exile step backwards into the surf. He shivered from the first smack of the ice-cold water, but continued to walk.

            “WILL YOU LET A BROTHER OF YOURS DIE BECAUSE OF PRIDE? I MAY HAVE DONE—” he spat up water as a wave crashed over his head and he stumbled. He stood up again as tall as his body would allow and continued. “w-w-WRONG IN THE p-p-PAST, b-b-BUT l-l-LETTING-ing m-me…”

            Topasannah could barely hear his shivering voice anymore as he walked further out to sea, the waves stealing the sound of his weakened words. Her gut wrenched at the sight of the shaking tauren and the sign of NO ONE on his forehead a bright red. Topasannah turned to her mother, who watched the scene with a blank face.

            “Mother, someone has to go out there and help him. He’ll drown out there,” she whispered, clutching her mother’s arm as if she was still a toddler.

            “The Earth Mother has forsaken him, and so shall we,” she answered in a dull voice. “And if he wants to die, it is better for all, including himself.”

            “But Mama,” Topasannah said, her jaw quivering, “Mama, we could save him, maybe help him—”

            “He is an exile. He may not come back. The Earth Mother has forsaken him, and so shall we.”

            Imash clasped his hands on Topasannah’s shoulders and lowered his braided head by her ear.

            “He murdered his wife,” he whispered low into Topasannah’s ear so that no one else could hear him except for her. “He has not only robbed his only son a mother, but also a father. If we were to try to drag him out, he will kill more. Look how far out he is now. Anyone who goes out there to save him risks drowning him or herself.”

            He lifted his head and squeezed her shoulders in a comforting way. Topasannah hiccupped.

            “I don’t want to watch,” she whimpered, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands and trying to turn away. Her father held her still.

            Owalan, in a lower voice than before, told her daughter, “You must watch and see how the Earth Mother punishes those who defy her.”

            Topasannah opened her eyes and watched the exile wade in the biting water. His bright gray eyes looked at each and every one of the tauren, possibly looking for the son that still sat by his cousin’s tent. He stayed upright for some time, the sky now a bloody red right before the sun sank below the horizon. His arms were wide open and blended with the dark gray sea. His eyes closed and his chin sank to his chest. An outside wave crashed over his head and pushed him under the surface, the silhouette of his body moving with the circular current.

            “I think that’s enough,” Topasannah’s father said, squeezing his daughter’s shoulders again. Several others murmured in agreement and the tauren broke away from the cliff’s edge. Once more the sharp snaps and whistles of fireworks filled the air.  Most of the children who were once silent or starting to cry dried their tears and cheered on the fireworks. Many of the adults continued lighting fireworks and clapped along with the children. Few looked worn out and sick. Topasannah wanted to fall into fire pit and have her memory of the exile drowning himself burned away. She put out a hoof to stop herself.

            She turned to where Rontu sat, but he entered his cousin’s tent and closed flap of the door. Her face wrinkled up and she hid it behind her hands.

 

TTT

 

            Several weeks after the event, Topasannah walked into the dark menstrual hut with Grenna once more. They stripped themselves of all of their clothing and sat right in front of the rock pyre again. Topasannah watched as Tanta added a little water to the pile of hot rocks and herbs, opening the hatch at the ceiling of the hut with a long stick to let some of the smoke out. She smiled at Topasannah.

            “Welcome back,” she said in a heavy voice. “You will get to eat fish and clams this time.”

            “Thank you. But…is Rontu doing all right? I haven’t seen him lately,” Topasannah said, snapping her mouth shut after speaking. Her heart thumped harder than ever, pumping blood and carrying heavy guilt.

            Tanta replaced the ladle back in its water bowl.

            “Have you been looking for him?” Tanta asked.

            “No…I thought he wanted to be alone.”

            _LIE LIE LIE_ her heart shrieked, but only Topasannah could hear its cries.

            She nodded. “Yes, he hasn’t had the courage to see other people. He has been deeply shamed by his once-father.”

            “I see.”

            “But if you were to come to comfort him, he nor I would turn you away.”

            Topasannah rested her chin on her knees, her abdomen cramping as it forced old blood to come out of her and stain the floor.

            “May I come once my flow has waned?” she asked the aunt, and smiling, the aunt nodded.

            A little bit of guilt leaked out of Topasannah once she made the promise, but most of it was still trapped inside. It dribbled out of her mouth as vomit, and the pale bile mixed with her dark red clots of blood on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to where credit is due! The concept of tauren exiles came from Destron's Travels Through Azeroth and Outland, and I've decided to expand on this concept (and he's totally cool with it. Yay!)


	3. Carolyn Peters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A romance novelist named Carolyn Peters finds herself waking up in the middle of a graveyard as one of the Forsaken, and she isn't exactly thrilled over this prospect.

            Carolyn Peters looked down at her hands for the first time in years. Gray, pruned, and smelling of honey and cloves, her hands barely resembled the hands she was used to looking at so long ago; those hands were plump and the fingertips often stained black with ink.

            "Welcome back to the world of the living," said the hovering valkyr that had revived her. "You are no slave. You are free to follow whatever path you choose here. If you choose to serve Dark Lady Sylvannas—"

            "Who?" Carolyn croaked. She gulped down the stickiness in her throat.

            "Dark Lady Sylvannas."

            Carolyn dug a pinkie in her ear and pulled out a sticky bit of wax. "Thought you said that. Who is she?"

            "She is the ruler of the Forsaken."

            "And who are they?"

            "They are you," the valkyr said.

            "Me?"

            Carolyn looked down at her self and realized she looked just as bad as her hands.

            "Yes," continued the valkyr. "We found you wrapped up in—"

            "Wait a tick, I'm dead?"

            "Undead, now. I revived you. And now you may follow the Dark Lady if you wish. Just speak to the undertaker, Mordo."

            She pointed to the undead man holding a scroll further up the gravesite. Carolyn stood up to smooth out the remaining rags of her pink dress then walked over to the undertaker. The rotting old man looked up from his scroll.

            "Ah yes, you're—" he started.

            "Carolyn Peters."

            "Yes, yes, Carolyn Peters. Good to have you with us and in good shape. Need anything replaced?"

            "I'm sorry?"

            "Y'know, jaws, ears, fingers—the little things that get lost easy." He cocked his head and nodded. "Nope, you seem to held up just fine."

            "From what?"

            "From being mellified. Now, about your service to Sylvannas…are you useful for anything?"

            Carolyn rubbed her eyes with her palms. "Look, please, I don't want to serve this Dark Lady Whoever. I've never even heard of her until now, and I still serve under King Menethil."

            "Menethil?"

            "Yes, King Terenas Menethil II. Surely you've heard of him."

            The undertaker wrung the rolled-up scroll in his hands so tightly it almost tore. "Of course I've heard of him. I served under him too when he was alive."

            "Don't tell me he's dead!"

"He is. Killed by his own son."

            "Arthas? How could a child kill—"

            "He's not a child anymore. Or rather," the undertaker smiled a wide, toothy grin, "he was not a child at the time. He was full grown when he killed his father and made mindless undead creatures of us all. But the Dark Lady freed us from his grasp. You must have been dead for quite a while if you don't even know that."

            "Yes," she said, her tongue running across her bottom jaw. "A long, long time. When did all this start happening?"

            "Over twenty years, I'd say."

            Carolyn's jaw dropped and rolled by her feet. Her black tongue fell and smacked her neck.

            "Damn! And you were doing so well," said Mordo as he picked the jaw. "No problem, I have plenty of suture thread here and I'll fix you up in no time."

            After having her jaw fixed, Carolyn set out to find her house with no promises of serving the Dark Lady. As she walked passed the great wall that protected Deathknell from the darker parts of Tirisfal Glades, her mind struggled in the sea of new information it was thrown into.

            Her death, well, she figured how that happened from her last living memory. A fan of hers had stopped by her house asking her to autograph her newest 800 plus page book, _The Gnome Innkeeper's Brand New Bride_ , only to come back a week later and thwack her on the side of the head with it. She heard the thump and saw the stars in her eyes before passing out. She must have died then and dunked in honey and cloves afterwards (or at least, she hoped she'd died after getting hit in the head. She had nearly drowned once and remember how painful that felt). Death she could take in. She hadn't felt anything in over twenty years, and at this point in her undeath she was very grateful for it.

            Living again in a completely different era was another beast.

            She didn't remember the glades as being such a glum place, with the deer so skinny that their ribs showed as they grazed on the gray-green crabgrass. The trees seemed to sag under the weight of their needles and the gloom. She looked up at the sickly yellow sky and frowned. It took her a long while before she reached Brill, which was near to bursting with even more Forsaken. The happy little town that was once bright and soft was now black and sharp. Her stomach turned at the sight of it. She walked around it on her path towards Brightwater Lake.

            She closed her eyes and still remembered everything about the little log house on the lake. It was a one-room home, but it was beautiful with the sun catchers in the windows and sweet smelling flowers growing all around it. Even during the wintertime it was a lovely little house, iced in a thick layer of snow and warm inside all season long.

            When the sun had nearly set, Carolyn reached the remains of her home. There was nothing left but a couple of rotting logs. The flowers were long dead and replaced by spiky weeds. No thick quilts she and her mother sewed to keep warm in the winter, no charred kettle she cooked most of her meals in, not even one page of the hundreds of books she stacked alongside the walls.

            "Not a thing…" she mumbled, salty tears running down her face.

            She turned to the old evergreen that stood a little crooked. Wiping away her tears, Carolyn trudged up to the tree. She dug at the fork of the tree's exposed roots, the grainy soil clinging to her bony fingers. When the sunlight had gone out her fingers found the metal box deep in the shallow hole. Grunting and panting, she yanked out the box and snapped open its rusty clasp. Inside laid a blank notebook, a new quill, and a bottle of dried ink all carefully wrapped in old newspaper and cloth rags. Yes, this was the spot where her house had once been.

            Clutching the journal to her breast, she bent over her folded knees and sobbed.

            The sky darkened to a deep purple when Carolyn calmed down. She sucked on her knuckles and stared up at the sky, her mind racing at a million miles per hour. She would have to start over, all over. She needed a new house and new things to put into it, and that cost a lot more than the silver in her pocket. And then there was her writing; for years she had written romance novels about living people. Now that she was dead (undead, actually), she'd have to completely change everything to meet the expectations of a reader base she had no idea about. Did dead people even read romances about other dead people? She covered her mouth with both her hands, sick at the idea of having to write a sizzling sexcapade of a skeleton and his molding bride.

            But if writing that sort of romance got her the money to rebuild her home, then she would do it. Really, it couldn't have been that difficult. If she could write a romance about a human woman and an orc man (and that was one of the more popular novels, she recalled), then she could write anything.

            She sat up and opened her journal, wishing she had packed a candle and a match. She couldn't see what was written on the title page of the journal, but that didn't matter. The message of what he wrote decades ago glowed in her mind's eye:

_Happy Birthday, Carrie. I know you've got too many of these, but one more couldn't hurt._

_~M_

            Was he gone too? Seeing as the entire land was full of the living dead, she didn't completely doubt it. He said that he was from Stranglethorn, and promised to give a tour there once she scrounged up enough money to go. Maybe he was still there, waiting to give her a tour on his black horse (if the horse was alive, but they only live for about twenty years so probably not). They'd certainly have a lot to talk about by then.

            Carolyn flipped another page. She could rebuild everything she once had, and everything will be as it once was. Her fingers wrapped around a hardened chunk of brown hair. No, not everything would be exactly the same, but she'd try anyway. Her old life was wonderful, so why not try to get it back?


	4. Dikasara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the story of Dika the adventuring orc as she carves her own path in Azeroth.

            “Wait up, Dika!” Dika heard Pakkar wail. Being the younger and squatter of the two child orcs, Pakkar had a hard time catching up to Dika when she wanted to go somewhere. That and it didn’t help that Dika was naturally fast and could shinny between two people like water flowing between rocks.

            “There!” Dika shouted, pointing up at the massive remains of Mannoroth. “I told you it was real.”

            They stood silent before the dead monster’s skull that had been tied at the top of an old, heavy tree, and its massive shield that was strapped across its trunk. Thick branches splayed out from behind the shield, almost like arms with too many fingers. The root feet were big enough to squash them both like a bug. Pakkar took a step back.

            “You’re not scared of this thing, are you?” said Dika, grinning.

            “No! It’s dead, why would I be scared of it?”

            “It was alive before. Imagine trying to fight this thing.”

            She went over to the root and plopped on it, her arms folded behind her head. Pakkar’s face twisted from wary fear to completely terrified.

            “Get away from it!” Pakkar hissed. “What if one of the guards see?”

            “You mean what if your father sees.”

            “That too! Please, Dika.”

            Dika rolled her eyes and hopped off the root. Pakkar started to walk ahead of her.

            “C’mon, let’s go to the pond,” he said.

            “All right, all right.”

            Dikasara walked with him this time, somewhat glad to be going to the pond. She still was not used to the intense heat of Durotar even after helping the adults build the city of Orgrimmar for the last few months. She and the other children could not do much but look after the babies and keep them out of the way. Some children were lucky and were apprenticed by a few of the adults. Many orphans were adopted since a great amount of children died during the voyage across the Great Sea. Dika, however, remained at the small orphanage with Matron Battlewail.

            “So when is your mother going to have the baby?” Dika asked, wiping the sweat from her brow. “She’s getting pretty big now.”

            “She should be having them soon. And we think she might be having twins, since her belly’s so big!”

            Dika kicked a pebble down the winding dirt path that cut through the bright yellow dust and sand. “Yuck, I wouldn’t want twins.”

            Pakkar frowned. “Why not?”

            Dika flashed a grin again. “You’ll find out.”

            The pond was full of fishermen and fish, but Pakkar and Dika squeezed into the shallow part of the lake to wade in. They were splashing around when the great gong announced that it was the top of the hour.

            “I gotta go help my mother now,” Pakkar groaned as he started to get out of the pool, “I’ll see you later, Dika.”

            “Wait! I want to go too. Maybe I can help with whatever you’re doing.”

            “Does Battlewail know?”

            “She’s always busy with the younger and stupider orphans. C’mon, I want to do something!”

            Pakkar didn’t argue with her after that, so they scampered over to the shadowy Drag. They huffed and puffed up the long spiral slope to Pakkar’s apartment at the very top of the hide-and-wood tower.  Pakkar pulled back the boar skin that served as a door to let Dika into the one room apartment where Pakkar’s naked mother laid on the pile of bedding furs. Next to her was a low wooden table with four small furs stacked on the top of it. A flicker of light came from the squat oil lamp that hung in the center of the room.

            Pakkar knelt by his mother. She stared up at the ceiling while stroking her swollen belly. Her eyes turned to Dika, and she smiled.

            “It’s good to see you, child,” she said. She pushed her thick plait of black hair away from Dikasara and Pakkar’s knees.

            Dika nodded. “It is good to see you too, Deyka”

            The older orc’s hand rubbed across the rim of her large belly. “Would you like to feel them, Dika?”

            Dika’s eyes widened. “I—”

            Deyka took Dika’s hand and placed it on top of her belly. Dika jumped when something under her palm squirm and push up from inside the womb. Dika jerked back, holding her hand to her chest. Both Pakkar and Deyka laughed.

            “May I, Mama?” Pakkar asked.

            “Of course,” she said.

            Pakkar stood up and placed both hands on his mother’s belly. Deyka’s belly trembled as what Dika guessed to be hands and feet tried to punch through the stomach from the inside. She didn’t understand why mother and son were chuckling. It looked so painful to lay on a pile of furs with skin stretched over the belly so thin that one poke of a needle would make the belly pop. Her skin crawled as she imagined two tiny, alien bodies wriggling and kicking at her innards, pulling and stretching her skin to try to get out.

            She doubted that Pakkar had ever seen a birth. He never saw how that terrible red hole yawned open and out came a wrinkled creature all covered in white goo. Dika’s stomach clenched and she sucked her lips in.

            “Are you afraid?” Pakkar asked, arms curved around his mother’s abdomen.

            “I’m not,” Dika said a little too loudly.

            Deyka laughed again. “That’s good. Because one day—ohh, don’t squeeze so tightly, Pakkar.”

            “Sorry.”

            For a time they sat and talked, but Dika said very little. She couldn’t stop staring at the stomach. Couldn’t stop seeing the two creatures clawing at her insides. Dika knew that one day she would lay on matted bed furs in the dim light for hours at a time because her belly would be so big and heavy with clawing creatures that she wouldn’t even be able sit up.

            Deyka grabbed at Pakkar’s hand, the other hand on her belly. The things inside were trying to push out again.

            “Pakkar, go find the healer. Some-something’s not right. Dika, stay by me.”

            Pakkar stumbled to get up. Then he stopped, half folded, by his mother’s legs.

            “You’re…you’re bleeding!” he gasped.

            “Then tell the healer that!” she shrieked and took in a great gulp of air.

            Pakkar stared, his eyes so wide that the whites seemed to glow in the dim light. He nodded and ran out of the room. Deyka took Dika’s hand and pulled her close.

            “Stay here, Dika. Stay here,” she whispered, each breath harsher than the last.

            “Can’t I do something?” Dika answered. Her entire body trembled as she clasped Deyka’s hand with her own.

            “This is all I want you to do, child. All I want.”

            She stopped speaking after that. The orc’s naked flesh broke out into goosebumps as she trembled. The stench of blood putrefied the air. Deyka’s sweat made the air sticky. Dika coughed, but the bad air wouldn’t leave her lungs.

            Deyka screamed.

            Deyka’s grasped at her still belly, the nails leaving behind thin red scratches. Dika tried to pull the hands away but the mother swiped at her. Dika grabbed at her face, feeling the sting of needle-thin scratches on her nose and lips.

            “Get away from her!” cried the voice of an older orc. Dika turned around and not only saw the long-haired healer stride into the room, but Pakkar’s father, still in his guard uniform.

            The healer pushed her away and set down his leather medicine bag. Dika hopped up and met Pakkar at the doorway. Her friend stood as rigid as stone. Grunting and cursing, the older orcs blocked most of his mother out of view. Pakkar’s father kneeled by his wife’s torso whilst the healer stepped in the woman’s blood to open her legs.

            Some minutes later, when the healer’s knees were washed in blood and white fluid, he procured a silent, still infant. He slapped its back, blew into its nose and mouth, but the infant would not stir. He put it aside. Dika stared as he but his hand inside Deyka.

            “Something’s not right,” the healer murmured. “There should be another—”

            He stopped. Slowly, he took his hand out of her.

            “It’s outside the womb,” he told Pakkar’s father.

            “You can’t take it out?” the father asked in his low, deep voice.

            “Yes, Murn, but it will kill her.”

            “If you leave it in it will kill Deyka. You’re a healer, do something!”

            “It will cause her more pain if I try to take it out, and she will still die.”

            “You have to try—”

            Her body jerked once, splashing more blood on the healer and on Murn, before she croaked out her last breath. The healer chanted and prayed over her, but Dika knew in her bones that Deyka was dead. The two men attempted to rescue the second infant that was still in Deyka, but it too was as dead as its twin.

            Murn covered his bearded face with his hands and said, “Say good bye to your mother, Pakkar.”

            Pakkar wiped the tears that welled in his eyes. Stiffly he walked to his mother and kneeled next to her.

            “Good bye, Mama.” Pakkar said, his voice cracking. Murn bent over her, wiping her loose, dark curls from her sweaty face.

            Dika could not see Pakkar’s face, as it was buried in his mother’s shoulder, but his body trembled. His father put a steady hand on his back. The healer took a clean cloth and wrapped the dead twins in it.

            Dika left the apartment unnoticed.

 

>>> 

 

            Dika trudged through the drag towards the orphanage, utterly exhausted. She sneezed, but the smell of blood never left her nostrils. As she approached the orphanage, Matron Battlewail was already outside with her broom, looking around all corners of the wide alleyway.

            “Dikasara,” she said with a huff. “Where have you been all day?”

            Dika’s eyes grew hot. She ran down the hill and threw her arms around Battlewail’s waist, pressing her face into her abdomen.

            “What in the world is the matter, child?” said the matron, one arm hugging Dika back and the other petting her thick black pigtails. A wet warmth dampened Battelwail’s white blouse. The orc broke apart from Dika and kneeled down to her. Dika’s light brown eyes glittered with tears.

            “What happened?” the matron asked.

            Dika shook her head.

            “You have to tell me what happened so I can make it better.”

            Dika shook her head again and grappled the matron’s shoulders. Sighing, the matron picked up the girl and walked inside the lit building. The matron set her down on her small bunk and cradled her until she fell asleep.

 


	5. Sarin Bloodweaver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not much is known about the blood elf Sarin Bloodweaver, except that she has just opened up a funeral parlor in Silvermoon City and is ready for business.

            “Good morning, Mistress.”

            “Good morning, Pizuri.”

            At the center of the round, windowless room was a wicker table all set up with a lace tablecloth and a full tea set. A blonde blood elf stood up to pour the sitting black imp some tea in his bone white cup.

            “It smells very nice, Mistress,” said Pizuri as the elf poured him tea. “What is it called?”

            “Phoenix eye,” she said. She finished filling his cup and poured herself one.

            His glowing yellow eyes widened and he stared into the cup. His long black tongue snaked between his needle-like teeth to taste the tea.

            “It tastes like flowers, Mistress,” said the imp.

            “That’s because the tea is made with flowers, silly.”

            Sarin grinned as she sipped from her own cup, her nose tickled by the light, honey-suckle like fragrance. Her imp shrugged and took a lemon-frosted scone.

            “Shall I set up after breakfast, Mistress?” Pizuri said as white bits of scone crumbled down his jaw.

            “Perhaps—”

            There was muffled slam and shout from outside.

            “Who the hell—is there anyone here? Come here this instant!” shouted a male voice.

            The imp and the elf looked at each other. The elf mouthed “Stay here” before leaving the table to slide open a hidden door in the white stonewall. She pushed away a red velvet curtain and stepped into a smaller but well furnished room. The shouty male blood elf stopped short of stepping around her kidney-shaped mahogany desk to reach for the curtain. His cheeks burned red.

            “Ah ha! And just who are you?” snarled the male elf.

            “Sarin Bloodweaver, and you are?” she said.

            “Keelen Sheets.”

            “Ah. Please have a seat, Mr. Sheet,” Sarin said, motioning to the two black leather chairs adjacent to the desk. In between the seat was a purple potted plant with long, fuzzy stems that yearned for the light of the ceiling lamp.

            “No, I shall not, thank you, and it’s Sheets,” said Keelen, who tore his eyes away from the plant to glare at Sarin. “I want to know why your establishment is here at all. It wasn’t here yesterday!”

            Sarin straightened her light blue robes and smiled. “Well, I’ve owned this tower for some time, Mr. Sheets, and I felt it was high time I started my business. But what I don’t understand is why my sudden move is any business of yours, Mr. Sheets.”

            “I own the shop _next door_ ,” Keelen said, his voice cracking as he resisted shouting at her. “What will my customers think coming into Keelen’s Trustworthy Tailoring when there’s a Sarin’s Funeral Parlor right next to it!”

            “Oh!” gasped Sarin, clasping her hands together. “Oh how stupid of me, of course you own Keelen’s Trustworthy Tailoring. I was going to visit you today.”

            Keelen raised a pencil-thin eyebrow. “Were you?”

            “Yes, please sit,” she said as she led him by the shoulder to the chairs. Keelen sat stiffly in his chair while Sarin lounged in hers, one leg over the other, and her clasped hands hooked over her top knee.

            She said, “We have much to discuss. We can become great business partners, really. All you have to do is supply the clothing and I’ll supply the customers!”

            “Customers? What customers?” Keelen said, edging away from the purple plant in his seat.

        “Now, don’t be stupid.” She patted his pale hand that grasped the edge of the chair arm. “The war’s over now, and that means plenty of cold bodies from Northrend that need to look their best when they’re finally laid to rest.” She smiled at her rhyme. “Plus I will need material to line the inside of the coffin, of course.  Why, by the time the last few bones come in, you’ll have enough for a nice, long holiday.”

            Keelen’s glowing green eyes darted away from hers and at his embroidered gold bracers. He sucked in his cheeks, released them, and looked back at her again.

            “I’m sorry, but no. I refuse to have any dealings with a business as glum as a funeral parlor. My customers come to me to show off to the living, not the dead! So if you’ll please pack up your things and move out, I’m sure it’ll be a lot less trouble than me going to formally complain about a business that sprouted out of nowhere. I’ve sold my wares much longer than you have, Ms. Bloodweaver, and I’m sure—”

            “They’ll be happy to learn about the succubus and leper gnomes beneath your shop.”

            He snorted, grinning. “Outlandish!”

            Sarin grinned as well. “That would be a terrible joke, wouldn’t it? A tailoring shop with ‘trustworthy’ in its name employing most untrustworthy tailors?”

            “Indeed it would,” laughed Keelen, hiding his smile behind his hands as his face grew redder and redder. “Good thing everyone would believe that it was a joke, though. Especially since—”

            His tongue flopped and the red in his face ran down to his neck. Pushing away the red curtain with a lemon scone in his hand was a pupil-less, green leper gnome.

            “M-Master!” the gnome cried, dropping the scone. “Master, I don’t know what happened, I woke up and—”

            A flash of violet light and the gnome was dead.

            Keelen went to the gnome and picked the small corpse up with his cloak, tying around the body and carrying the mass like a sack of rocks. He went to the oval door and gripped the golden handle. Colored light fell over his face from the stain glass window depicting a fruit laden lemon tree.

            “We’ll speak of business another time,” he said.

            He left the shop much more quietly then when he came in.

            Sarin leaned back in her chair and took in a long breath. As she exhaled, she called for Pizuri. The imp peek through the thick curtain just enough for his long black horns to show.

            “Come here,” said Sarin, a little annoyed now.

            The imp padded to her, wringing his clawed hands. “Yes, Mistress?”

            “Did you use the trap door to steal a gnome?”

            Pizuri looked down at his hooves, his tail tucking underneath him.

            “Yes,” he whispered.

            “Go seal the trap door now.”

            “Y-Yes Mistress!”           

            Pizuri hopped back through the curtain. Sarin sighed and locked the front door this time, cursing herself for forgetting during her haste earlier. She went through the curtain and watched the little demon mutter a spell over a stone. The stone glowed green for a moment. Pizuri looked behind his shoulder and smiled at Sarin.

            “See, Mistress? The door is sealed now!”

            Sarin nodded. “Good.”

            “Shall we set up now, Mistress?”

            Pizuri was at her ankles, bouncing from foot to foot.

            “No,” she said. “No, I’m afraid Mr. Sheets is a bit suspicious now. We shall have to wait to begin the experiments.”

            Pizuri’s ears folded back. He clutched Sarin’s soft robes and wailed, “I’m sorry, Mistress! This is all my fault! Let me give you my soul to be the first experiment!”

            “Now, now,” said Sarin. She picked up the demon and held him close to her chest. “I need you for more useful things.”

            “Perhaps use…Haakorill’s soul then?” Pizuri said. He threw his skinny arms around her clothed neck. The blue silk beneath his body smoldered slowly.

            “No, he has his uses too.  Tonight I will need him to move the heavier tables and stones in here.”

            “He hates you,” Pizuri hissed. “I am worried, Mistress, that he will kill you!”

            Sarin’s golden eyebrows knitted together. Pizuri played with her hair, which gradually burned to brown from his touch.

            “Not like me, Mistress,” he said.

            Their eyes met.

            “I ---- you,” he said. “Do you            ---- me, Mistress?”

            For the first time in a long time, Sarin felt a spike of fear in her stomach. It was natural for demons to hate the masters they were bound to serve. When learning the dark arts, Sarin expected that. For a demon to love another, if it could be called that, was terrifying. She had never heard before of a demon actually loving its master.

            She didn’t know what was the result of a demon loving its master and its love was rejected.

            “Of course, I do,” Sarin said flatly, “You are my most loyal servant.”

            Overjoyed, the imp rubbed his head under Sarin’s chin like a cat. Sarin dropped the imp and grabbed at her burning skin.

            “I am so sorry, Mistress!” Pizuri was near to tears. “I am so sorry, I forgot!”

            “It’s all right,” Sarin said. She used the empty silver platter that held the lemon scones as a mirror. Her skin still hurt, but there was no mark. “It’s fine. Just do be careful.”

            The imp buried his face in his clawed hands and sobbed dry sobs.

            “It’s all right, really,” said Sarin, who knelt by the imp. “It was an accident. Here, why don’t you stay here and calm down a bit. I’m going to go out.”

            “Outside?”

            “Yes, outside. I will meet you here at nightfall. No more stealing gnomes, all right?”

            Pizuri nodded but continued to sob. Under the wicker table Sarin pulled out a large carpetbag that held the rest of her clothing. After changing into a set scarlet robes and snipping off the locks of burned hair, Sarin left the secret room with the imp still crying. With a wave of her hand and a long spell, the door behind the curtain grew violet for a moment before being sealed.

            She crossed the richly furnished room to the door with the stain glass window. She squinted a bit as she approached the door, the yellow light from the glass lemons so bright she felt blinded. When she opened the door and stepped through the threshold, however, the light became much more bearable.

            Sarin locked the door with a bronze key and strolled through Silvermoon City as if she had had never left the ivory walls over five hundred years ago.


	6. Isha'ja

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isha'ja (though she prefers to be called Isha) is a troll getting married today to a man she dislikes the least, with the hope that doing so will allow her some control over her life.

            With a burlap bag slung around her arm, the young troll Isha stepped into the shallow waves that curled up high on the sand. She hummed a tune that came from deep within her chest, going up and down like a wave current. She waved a hand and a light breeze blew away some of the fog. As she walked further out to sea, she nodded her red head at the seagulls that floated in the water like little white boats. She stopped humming and plunged into the luke-warm water.

            The world burst into color.

            Yellow, red, pink, purple, and green coral grew in colonies on jagged black boulders of the Vile Reef. She swam down to a spotted giant clam that rested in between the coral. Small yellow fish darted out of her way as she heaved up the clam and stuffed it into bag. She called in a current to push her up to the surface, and she walked back to shore.

            Her younger sister Kya ran out from the dark border of the thick Stranglethorn jungle. Kya waved her arms like a gull flapping its wings. When Isha met her on the damp bank, her sister grabbed her by the elbows.

            “Is this where you’ve been?” Kya said, her voice shaking. “What possessed you to go fishing at a time like this?”

            “Nerves,” Isha answered, throwing a wet red braid behind her.

            “Explain that to Mama. She’s going to be mad when you get back.”

            The two trudged back into the warm jungle, the younger troll taking two steps for every one long step Isha made.

            “I guess I don’t blame you for being nervous,” Kya said, short black braids bouncing on her back. “I probably will be too on my wedding day.”

            Isha shrugged. They walked down the skinny earthen path in silence until they reached their village. Trolls, both men and women, were sweeping up the earth around their branch-and-grass huts, some tying flowers around the support beams that held the huts up high for when the rains came. Today was dry and the sky was a deep blue without a cloud in sight. By Isha’s hut there was a red leather tent set up with other blue-skinned women coming in and out of it, carrying clay pots of beads, paint and—

            Kya skipped ahead and called out, “Mama, I found her!”

            Their mother poked her head out of the leather tent. Her red eyes opened with surprise and her square jaw dropped. She stumbled out of the tent, half-laughing and half about to cry.

            “Sweet daughter! We were so worried about you. Don’t go running off again, all right? Kya, good job for finding her, now take a broom and sweep. Isha, you come with me.”

            The elder troll took Isha’s elbow and led her into the leather tent. Inside it smelled as fragrant as spring, since there was a bowl of smoldering incense to cover up the stench of tanned leather. In the middle of the tent sat the large wooden tub with water kept hot by another shamaness, Elder Mat’li. The shrunken shamaness, wrapped in her bright red shawl, looked up at her and smiled.

            “You’re just in time, my child,” said Elder Mat’li in a low, hushed voice. “The water is hot and ready to strip off impurities.”

            Isha took off her weathered skirt and vest; her mother folded and took away her dirty clothes. The hot water bit at Isha’s salty skin as she sank into the bath. The shamaness stood up and helped Isha unbraid her long hair.

            “We will wash the body first,” said Elder Mat’li. “Then we will wash the hair and comb it until it is as fine as spider’s silk.”

            Isha said, “Are we going to braid it after?”

            “No. You will go out with loose hair. When you have consummated your marriage, then you will braid your hair.”

            Her mother returned and picked up a new bristle brush from the small pile of bath tools in the corner of the tent. Without a word her mother took her arm and started to brush it.  Isha controlled her long, slow breathing, unwilling to show her mother how much the brush hurt as it scratched her grubby skin. Isha figured it must be painful if impurities were to be removed.

            Then they reached her feet.

            “Ugh! Such ugly feet!” her mother said, grimacing at the calloused skin on the bottom of her feet. “It’s a surprise at all that anyone proposed to you with such ugly feet.”

            This is when her mother reached for the pumice stone and Isha’s eyes widened.

            “Mother, I need these calluses,” she said.

            Her mother snorted and said, “No, I won’t have my first daughter wed with such calluses on her feet. Her feet must be as smooth as a babe’s.” She took the stone and scraped at the biggest callus, and Isha flinched. “I told you time and time again to scrub your feet once a week so they would not be so callused for your wedding.”

            “I like my calluses.”

            Elder Mat'li chuckled. “Are you sure she is your daughter, not your son, Talulu?”

            Talulu scraped harder. “You can grow them back in your husband’s home. I have no use for ugly feet in my home.”

            The scraping of her feet sent shocks of pain and unease into Isha’s belly. Isha tried to pass time by brushing her fingernails with a long bristle brush. The shamaness reheated the water before combing Isha’s tangled mess of crimson red hair before washing it. At last, after every knot was combed out of Isha’s hair, her mother finished her feet. Isha submerged her stinging feet back into the bathwater.

            After she was completely clean, Isha stepped out of the bath and was given some fish and mashed yam to eat. She washed her mouth after eating and polished her inch-long tusks until they shone. Talulu oiled her hair and Elder Mat’li dusted her body with ground, dried flowers.

            For the very last chore, her mother took out the wedding gown. It was an old, long leather robe, freshly oiled and refeathered with red and blue plumage at the shoulders. Isha stood still and straight as her mother and the shamaness put the sleeveless gown on her and buttoned the rapter-tooth buttons in the back. Both the older women stepped back to observe their work when they were done.

            Her mother bit the top of her knuckle as her bright red eyes swept up and down Isha’s body.

            “You’ll do well,” Talulu said. “You look well. Wear that gown proudly and with grace, as I and my mother have.”

            “I will,” Isha said, looking down at her mother. Her mother nodded and left the tent.

            “Now is the time for self-reflection, my child,” said Elder Mat’li. “When we leave, you must look deep within yourself to find the woman who has been hiding.”

            Isha ground her back teeth.

            “Don’t be upset,” the shamaness said, frowning. “No woman is truly a woman until she has been married. I’ve told you this many times, Isha’ja.”

            Isha nodded. The shamaness continued her speech as other larger, stronger women than Isha’s mother came in to remove the bath.

            “During this time, think of your lifemate and how you will make him content and help him succeed. During this time, think of the children you will bear for him.  During this time, think of how your actions will reflect on his standing with all trolls, not just us Blackbones. Marriage is about self-sacrifice, Isha.” Elder Mat’li eyed Isha with her dull green eyes. “I know how much you hate hearing this. I know of your white-hot spirit. Hewill lead your spirit from now on, as my lifemate leads mine. You are like a newly captured raptor, Isha, bucking and trying to bite heads off. But when you calm down and learn to be led, that is when you will be happiest. I know you don’t think so now, but it is true.”

            Elder Mat’li put a hand on Isha’s head and whispered a long prayer to the ancestors. She left one oil lamp on for Isha to meditate by. As she left, Isha could see that dusk was fast approaching. Had they really been in this tent for so long?

            Isha sat by the lamp and closed her eyes, inhaling the sweet incense and searching deep within herself.  Within in her heart she knew the shamaness and teacher was wrong. Perhaps other girls didn’t mind being so dependant on a lifemate, but her soul knew it was wrong for her. She would die under such conditions.

            Sit’kor, she knew, was reasonable. Her intended was not brash like the other men in their village, and he did not try to overpower her or frighten her into accepting their proposals. Those other men paid dearly for that. Her parents asked Sit’kor to try and court her and, because he was the most respectful out of all the suitors, she accepted. She liked him a little, and perhaps would one day love him. But for now, his marriage gave her freedom from her parents and got the village off her back with their nagging on her marrying.

            Isha dozed off time and again in the warm tent. She could hear her people setting up outside. Well, they weren’t her people yet, but given another thirty years she should be head shamaness to give brides-to-be lectures about submitting utterly to their lifemates.

            She opened her eyes and decided then and there that she would never be that kind of shamaness.

            She heard the low rumble and sharp beats of the many drums outside the tent, calling her to come out. She could taste their impatience. Her heart danced to the quick and sharp beats of the hand drums outside her tent. They were waiting for her; the entire village was waiting for her. The young troll put a hand over her heart to calm it, but it danced faster and faster. Her ears perked up at the shivering song of the tambourine—Kya would be playing that.

            Taking in a breath, Isha stepped out of the tent and onto a path of burning coals.

            The trolls that squished in along the sides of the path whistled and screamed as she walked along the red coals. The pain was indescribable to her. Her mind went white with pain, but she refused to let the other trolls see it on her face. She couldn’t see the trolls anymore, but golden glints of light that reflected off their own polished tusks.

            For a solid minute she walked down the hot path to her lifemate-to-be and to Shadow Hunter Kuak, a wiry man with his beard braided into six white plaits. Sit’kor’s eyes glimmered in the red light of the late day. When she reached him, stepping off the path of coals, it was full twilight. His large tusks were gleaming white and glittering with golden rings. His orange hair was slicked with oil and brushed straight up like a lion’s mane. The leather wedding robes he wore hung loosely on his gangly frame.

            “My people!” cried out Kuak, holding up his meaty arms. “We gather here to bind the lives of these two young trolls. It is a bond that shall never be broken, not even in death, as the Loa watch over us…”

            He went on and on until Isha felt she would fall over with boredom. Her feet burned like a million bees were stinging it. As she was only allowed to look upon the shadow hunter as he spoke, her eyes went out of focus and he was nothing but a blue blur. When his long speech was over, he turned Isha and Sit’kor to face each other and link both of their hands.  He took his staff and continued to talk, weaving a prayer that would keep them together for life, that would bring them many children, and that would bring them good, healthy lives. Deep down Isha wondered if this spell of his would actually work.

            His prayer finished, the shadow hunter cried out, “Now two have become one!”

            The crowd stood up and cheered so loudly that it kept the nearby beasts away. There was a feast, of course, and wedding gifts of clothes and tools that would be put in their new house that was to be built the next day. But for tonight…

            “And now, I shall take my bride into the night!” Sit’kor called out as soon as all the gifts had been given.

            He took her hand for the second time that night and waved as everyone cheered him on. Isha found her family in the crowd. Her father was easy to find, as half of one of his tusks was broken off from a fight many years ago. Next to him was her mother, smiling. She wore a real smile. Isha’s heart fluttered at the sight of it. Kya hopped up and down, cheering like everyone else.

            Sit’kor’s father, an elderly troll with a shock of white hair, presented his son with a golden raptor. He kissed Sit’kor on the cheek and then Isha before going back into the crowd. Sit’kor helped her up onto the raptor, which she was especially glad of. Throughout the night her feet felt sorer and sorer from the abuse they received that day. Sit’kor swung up behind her and took the reins, one of his large hands in her lap. His greasy fingernails left a mark on her robes. One of Sit’kor’s brother handed him a torch which he gave Isha to carry. He clicked his tongue and pushed in his knees against the raptor, and it took off into the jungle.

            They rode for some time, each jarring step the raptor took shaking new pain into her feet. Isha could hear the river coming nearer. They stopped at the foot of a hastily built hut by the riverbank. Sit’kor slid off first and picked Isha up with surprising strength given his gangliness.

            “I want to cool my feet in the river,” she told Sit’kor.

            “I’ll put you inside first,” he grunted as he carried her to the doorway, “and then I’ll fetch a pot of river water. You never know what’s swimming this time of night.”

            He carried her inside and let her down on a mat. She lit the oil lamps inside and smothered the torch out with a thick piece of dry leather. Sit’kor left with the pot for washing hands and feet, leaving Isha to lie on the dry-stick mat lined with cloth.

            Her feet, as she guessed, looked worse than this morning after her mother scolded her for having ugly feet. The skin was badly blistered and shiny with new burns. Sit’kor saw them when he returned with the pot of water. Isha put her feet in the cold water and she flinched from the sudden pain. Sit’kor watched her as she relaxed, lying down to let the cold water seep the terrible heat out.

            “Do you think they put anything here to treat burns?” she said.

            He shrugged and started looking around. After some time he found an aloe ointment in a clay jar and long bandages. Isha took out her feet and dried them with the end of a blanket before applying the ointment and bandages. She lay down again, closing her eyes. He lay down next to her.

            “So,” he said, “feeling better?”

            She opened her eyes and rolled them in his general direction.

            “Yes, a bit. I need to rest now, though,” she said, and closed her eyes again.

            She felt his moist breath on her as he sighed. They were quiet for a while. She felt him open up a button on her robes and rub his rough hand against her back. She didn’t bother opening her eyes.

            “I said I need to rest.”

            “I am letting you rest.”

            She laughed, opening her eyes. “What, are you going to ‘take me’ while I sleep?”

            “No,” he said.

            “Good.”

            She closed her eyes and let him rub her back. It calmed her, in a way. Her eyes flashed open when he squeezed her breast.

            “I can’t sleep when you do that,” she said.

            “Sleep? You said you were going to rest.” He let go of her breast and laid his hand on her side.

            “People sleep when they need to rest, Sit’kor.”

            “Did I marry an old lady? I thought you had more energy that that, Isha,” he said with a flicker of a grin.

            She narrowed her eyes at him. “I usually don’t walk over hot coals and then stand on burned feet for hours.”

            “I don’t get married every day either, but it’s a wife’s duty to—”

            Isha huffed and spread out her arms and legs. “Fine, do it, and do it quick so I can sleep.”

            “You will not order me around,” he said. “As the man of this house, I am the one with authority.”

            For the first time that day, Isha laughed, long and hard. She laughed at him, at her mother, at the shamaness, at the whole ordeal.

            “You are a man, but you are not the one with authority,” she said, and her laughter ceased.

            Now he laughed, “What, not me? You?”

            “Yes.”

            His laughter trailed off as she glared at him, her eyes and spirit consuming him. She knew Kuak and his parents had warned him that she was not someone who broke. She broke others. He quailed under her gaze, because he was reasonable. He would do as he—

            He snarled and mounted her, slamming her shoulders against the mat. Her red eyes opened wide in surprise, then narrowed down again. Before he could make his move she grabbed his torso and shoved him off of her. He fell backwards, landing on his elbows, legs splayed. She sat up, her red hair mussed and flowing down her body like fresh lava. Her gaze pierced his soul. They sat, glaring at each other, pushing each other to their limits. The air was thick with their sweat and energy.

            He pounced again, but was thrown back by a strong gust.

            “Get out,” she growled.

            The wind came again and pushed him out of the tent until she heard a loud splash from outside. The wind grew warm and gentle around her shoulders. It whispered, “ _Shall I tell the river to drown him?_ ”

            “No,” she answered.

            She heard him coughing outside. Had the water tried to drown him? The earth told her he was on land now, not in the river.  She sat still, listening to him growl and groan.

            “ _He is walking back to the village,_ ” said the earth.

            Isha took the itchy blanket next to her, rolled in it, and closed her eyes. She knew what was coming.

<<< 

 

            She awoke a few hours later when several pairs of rough hands ripped off her blanket and held her down. She could see the curved figure of Elder Mat’li in the early morning shadow enter the tent, Sit’kor tailing her. Chieftain Jumokk entered last, wearing his wooden mask with a black skeleton-face painted on.

            “Isha’ja, daughter of Mul’ja,” grumbled the chieftain, “Sit’kor, son of Kil’kor, has informed me that you have failed to consummate your marriage, and have even assaulted him. Is this true?”

            “Yes,” she said, her voice a low pitch.

            “Despicable. You bring dishonor to both families and to this tribe.”

            Isha shot a look at Sit’kar. He looked back and nodded.

            “Then cast me out like all the others,” she said.

            “That won’t be necessary,” said Elder Mat’li.

            “Indeed,” said the chieftain, his voice muffled by the mask. “My fathers would have cast damned women like you out, but we are too few in number to continue that practice. Instead, we will ensure that this marriage is consummated.”

            “No,” she said.

            She twisted her arms, but they were held fast.

            “No,” she whispered, as her legs were held out wide and open. “Spirits!”

            Barely a breeze came to the tent.

            “Mat’li, you wouldn’t do this to me!”

            Elder Mat’li did not answer, as she was deep in concentration. Isha clamped her eyes shut to concentrate, to persuade the wind. The wind did not answer, as it was too charmed by the elder shamaness’s wisdom and power. Her concentration when fingernails bit her thighs. Heart pounding in her ears, sweat pooling in her armpits, Isha screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now all the Hordies are done! Thanks for the kudos everyone, and expect the beginning of the Alliance stories in December. I'mma finishing my grad applications and going to Japan woot!


	7. Winniefred Sourbrew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwarf priestess Winnifred Sourbrew brings her parents to her home in Thelsamar, only to find that her wife Evina has quite a surprise for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On to the Alliance stories with one of my current favorite characters, Winnie! And she's named Winniefred after hearing it from a Winnie the Pooh episode where Christopher Robin is writing to a girl named Winniefred. Papa and Mother Sourbrew are a little bit based off my late English grandpa and late Virginian grandma. I'm sure they would be so proud lol.

            A snowy white ram pulled a wagon and three Sourbrew dwarves down the dirt path that cut into the green mountainside. Driving was Papa, an old dwarf with a floppy leather hat to cover his balding head. Sitting next to him was his red-headed daughter, Winnie, who had her hands folded nicely in her lap. Sitting next to her was her long-nosed mother, Mother, who wore her thick hair in two white braids over her shoulders and one braid bumping her curved back.

            “Morning already and we’re almost there,” said Papa.

            “I don’t see the lake,” said Mother, craning her short neck all around. “Are you sure we’re going the right way, Winnie?”

            Papa shook his head and said, “There’s only the one road, Mother!”

            “I didn’t ask you. Winnie, are we going the right way?”

            “We are, Mother,” answered Winnie. “When we arrive at Thelsamar, we’ll be able to see the lake.”

            “I should hope so. Damn, it’s warm out.”

            Winnie’s mother took off her red wool cloak and dropped it into wagon bed.

            “Papa you should take your cloak off too or you’ll sweat to death. I swear it isn’t this hot even if I was right at the heart of the Forge,” said Mother.

            Papa shook his head. “Nothin’s hotter than the Forge. You’re just excited.”

            “I suppose I am. Oh, it’ll be good to see them all again. We all had such fun during Winterveil, didn’t we Winnie?”

            “Yes,” she said, scratching her nose.

            “I’m sure they’ve grown some since Winterveil, hadn’t they?”

            “Of course they’ve grown,” Papa shouted, shaking his head. “What do you expect kids to do, shrink?”

            “Will you stop being so sour?”

            “I’m not sour.”

            Winnie felt herself being squished even tighter between her parents.

            “Mother, Papa, it’s just been a long trip. Everyone’s a little sour,” said Winnie.

            “I am not sour,” Papa growled. The white ram turned his head a little to eye the arguing dwarves. Papa glared back but said in a kinder way, “We’ll find out all about the kids when we get there.”

            Winnie sighed. In her mind she thought of all the trips she took with her wife Evina and their three children, Ainsley, Aed, and Aegnus from Thelsamar all the way to the snowy mountaintops of Ironforge. She never liked putting her parents through all the trouble of traveling around a mountain to visit, even by gryphon. This time they insisted on stretching their legs a bit by coming down to their daughter’s home by wagon to “enjoy the mountainside.” Winnie prayed that three days of traveling to and from Thelsamar would stretch their legs enough to never want to travel this way again.

            An hour or so later, they reached the dwarven town of Thelsamar. The town seemed to have come from the mountain itself and shaped into homes by the cool, sharp winds that whipped along the hills. As Papa drove into town, the other dwarves of the town approached to say hello before returning to their work. Three small children came running and screaming to the wagon.

            The first to reach the wagon was Ainsley, the eldest of the children with two thin black braids that reached her ankles.

            “Hello, hello!” she said breathlessly.

            “No fair, Ainsley!” Aed shouted. He was the middle child with a mess of dirty-blonde curls and splotches of freckles on his face.

            “Wait, wait!” Aegnus shrieked. Being the smallest and with the fattest legs, the red-headed boy was the last to reach the wagon.

            “How was your trip, Granny?” Aed asked, smirking at Ainsley.

            “Fine, very fine dear—Papa will you stop this cart so I can talk?”

            “Need to park it first, Mother.”

            A new voice shouted out from the growing crowd. “Priestess!”

            Winnie turned around and waved at Jenny, a young dwarf woman missing a bit of her nose. Jenny waved back.

            “Welcome home! Did you have a good trip?”

            Winnie nodded and answered when Jenny ran up to the side of the cart, “Oh yes, I did. Is the family well?”

            “Yes! The baby came last night. Do you think you could come and bless her?”

            “Of course. I’ll come after supper.”

            “Thank you, Winnie! Light be with you.”

            “And you!”

            Jenny left the side of wagon and ran back to her home. Papa laughed.

            “Sick of us already, are you?” he said under his breath and winked at her.

            Winnie smiled back. “Of course not, Papa.”

            When they parked the wagon next to a house right on the edge of the town, the children helped their grandmother down as their grandfather and mother took the ram to the stables.

            “Another successful trip,” said Papa, patting the ram one last time before leaving the animal to enjoy his oats.

            “Can’t call it successful yet until we get inside, Papa.”

            As they rounded the house, Papa said, “Y’know, this really is a nice little town you moved into. Maybe Mother and I should move here too to be close to the grandkids. We don’t see them enough, y’know.”

            “They won’t get their gifts from Ironforge anymore if Granny and Grandpa stay, though.”

            Papa chortled as they entered the cool shade of the stone-and-earth home. Inside the little sitting room Mother sat on the old wooden rocking chair with Aed and Aegnus sitting by her feet and playing with her shoelaces as she prattled on about their trip. Ainsley popped up from the stone stairs below with two loaves of bread. Following her was her other mother Evina, who had long, black hair like her daughter that was braided and decorated with silver rings. She carried a bag of roots in her small hands.

            “Well look who finally came to join us,” Evina laughed. She came over and kissed Winnie. “Good trip?”

            “Oh yes,” Winnie said before taking the roots from her wife.

            “Right. Good to see you again, Papa!” Evina threw her freed arms around the older dwarf’s shoulders.

            “Aye, and you, Evina. Did you—well look at that!”

            Just then another dwarf came up from the staircase: a pink-cheeked dwarf with a long brown braid down her back and blue eyes like Evina’s, but wearing a tunic and breeches instead of a gingham dress.

            Winnie gasped, “Aerin!”

            “Aerin, what in the world are you doing here?” Mother said, smiling from ear to ear.

            Papa nodded. “I was about to say the same thing.”

            “I’m on leave until my next big job,” Aerin said with a great grin on her face, “and it’s a _big_ job all right!”

            Evina put a hand on her sister’s shoulder and said, “You can tell everybody as we eat. To the table!”

            Next to the seating room was the feasting room, and the family of eight squeezed themselves at the dinner table, which was a slab of dark wood with a long wooden bench at each side to sit on. On top of the plain table were Evina’s finest silver and a porcelain pitcher with painted pictures of pansies at the center. Evina took the pitcher and poured everyone a little white wine into everyone’s silver goblets.

            She held her silver goblet up, and the diamonds along the brim of the cup sparkled in the sunlight that poured from the open window.

            “To Papa and Mother Sourbrew,” said Evina, bowing her head to them.

            Winnie rose her own goblet and said, “To the Light, and to Aerin.”

            Winnie bowed her head at Aerin and bowed her head for a moment of silence. The moment parted and they drained their cups.

            Smacking his lips, Papa said, “Good, good. Where’s the beer?”

            As they dove into the steaming pork pies, the spicy mashed potatoes, and the peppery dandelion salad, Aerin opened up about her next big job.

            “Now, not a word of this leaves this house,” she said, grinning. “Prince Anduin will be coming to stay at Ironforge for a few weeks.”

            Mother froze, her fork still deep into her potatoes. “The prince of Stormwind?”

            “No, the prince of Undercity—of course the prince of Stormwind!” Papa shook his head.

            “Why does he want to come to Ironforge?” Evina asked.

            Before Aerin could get a word out, Ainsley said, “I want to go to Ironforge and meet him!”

            Aed nodded. “Aye, I’d like to too!”

            Aegnus spat out pulled pork to say, “Me three!”

            “Hush, you three,” said Winnie in a quiet voice. They continued eating, not looking at her. Winnie asked, “Why is Prince Anduin coming to Ironforge, Aerin?”

            “Well, King Bronzebeard told me that he needs a bit of a holiday, but he needs to be trained too. He’s a bit…soft.”

            “The _king_ told you all this?”

            “Of course, I’m going to be looking after the prince during his stay. And training him too.”

            “Really?”

            “Wonderful, just wonderful! You’re really moving up, my dear,” said Mother as she patted Aerin’s hand.

            Papa wiped a wilted leaf from his beard. “Just to think, a few years ago—”

            Again, Ainsley piped up. “Since you’re watching him, that means we can meet him too!”

            “Yup,” Aegnus said, nodding his red head.

            “Could we?” Aed said, his brown eyes peering through his mess of hair.

            Winnie huffed, “Hold _on_ , you three. He is a prince, I don’t think he’ll have time to—”

            “Don’t worry yourself, Winnie, I’ll make sure I make time. Besides, how many times will I get to walk around a prince of Stormwind?”

            The children burst out into cheers, and as Winnie was getting them to settle again, Evina cut in, laughing, “Quiet you three! But really, Aerin, this is wonderful news.”

            “Make sure to bring him over for a keg or two,” said Papa before he drank another gulp of dark beer.

            Mother curled a finger at her lips and said, “I don’t know if he’d be able to drink that much, Papa. A half a keg, sure, but a full one?”

            Smirking, Aerin said, “I’m not sure if the lad drinks, to tell the truth.”

            The entire table roared in surprise, including Winnie, who made no effort to quiet her children.

WWW

            “Good evenin’, priestess.”

            Winnie bowed her head at the short dwarf girl who leaned on the doorframe, the gentle candlelight casting a shadow over her plump frame.

            “Good evening, Leanna. How is the infant?” asked Winnie.

            “Fit as a fiddle. Come and see her yourself.”

            Winnie followed Leanna inside the little stone house and down the squat set of stairs that led to Morganne’s bedroom. It was a square room with an unlit fireplace in the corner and a large bed right next to it. Sitting underneath the gray woolen blankets was Morganne, a rather haggard-looking dwarf woman with hair sticking out of her red braids and a blanket of sweat on her long face and neck. Sitting next to her was Jenny, who rubbed noses with the squirming infant in her lap. In the dim light, the hole in Jenny’s left nostril looked darker than in the sunlight.

            “Priestess Winniefred,” said Morganne, her voice thick and tired. “I’m glad you were able to make it tonight.”

            Winnie sat at the foot of the bed. “Of course. May I see your child?”

            Jenny handed the cotton-wrapped bundle to Winnie, who looked down on the red face with dark brown eyes, almost the color of earth.

            “She’s a right beauty.  You should be a proud mother. And a proud aunt,” she told Jenny then turned to Leanna. “And a proud sister. Let me prepare for a moment.”

            She handed the infant back to Jenny and pulled out a small white bundle and a pewter flask from her blue embroidered pack on her hip. She rolled out the bright white linen and poured a little water from the flask onto the linen.

            “What would you like her to be named?” asked Winnie, accepting the infant again.

            Morganne looked down at her folded hands in her covered lap, smiling. She said, “Well, I know it’s not a very dwarven name, but I met a human priestess with this name and I thought it was very pretty.” She looked up at Winnie, but her eyes shifted away.

            “There’s nothing wrong with an unusual name. Please tell me what you wish to name her.”

            “Britomart,” sad Morganne as she smoothed out the gray sheets. “I want to name her Britomart.”

            “Ah, I know her,” said Winnie. “With the long brown hair and the gray eyes and the dot on her cheek?”

            “Aye.”

            “Well, she’ll be pleased to know she’ll have another to share her name. Now let’s begin.”

            With the infant in her lap, Winnie took off the baby’s swaddling and wiped her little head and spoke in slow, hushed voice.

            “I clean your head, so you may start life with a clear one. You will see and think clearly, to consider other’s happiness before yours, and to respect your fellows.”

            Winnie put more water on the cloth and washed the infant’s squiggling arms and legs.

            “I clean your limbs, so you may start life strong. All your life you must work long and hard to make the world a better place.”

            After shaking out the last bit of water from the small flask, Winnie rubbed the wet cloth on the baby’s chest. Her small face scrunched up and she closed her eyes.

            “I clean your chest, where your heart lies, so you may feel compassion for others. One cannot survive from just the connection between oneself and the Light, but with man, many others as well. Compassion allows this.”

            The baby’s brown eyes opened again, her thin, blonde eyebrows furrowing. Her body began to glow.

            “I bless this child, for the Light. Wherever she goes, the Light may follow. She will never be alone, for the Light will be within her as well. May the Light embrace her and bless her, Britomart Whiteflame.”

            Slowly, Britomart’s glow faded. Winnie wrapped her in her soft gray swaddling and handed her back to Morganne.

            “The blessing is done. Congratulations to you, Britomart, and to you two as well.”

            Morganne smiled so wide that the tears that ran down her face fell on her teeth as well. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Priestess. How can I repay you?”

            “No need to repay, me. It is an honor to do the blessing. Now,” she said, sliding off the bed, “I must return to my family, but call me in case there is any trouble.”

            “I’ll walk you out,” said Jenny.

            After the ascended to the ground floor and to the stone threshold, Jenny took Winnie’s arm and stopped her from reaching the door.

            “Please, we must give you some sort of payment.”

            Winnie turned around and smoothed her short hair behind her ears.

            “If you would like to pay me, then pay me in bread,” said Winnie.

            “No, much more than bread. So many of our kind have fallen away from the Light, and those who still follow the Light are in Ironforge or Stormwind. Britomart may never have been blessed in time without you. Here, at least take this.”

            Jenny went to the rocking chair by the door and picked up a folded cloak. She handed it to Winnie, who could feel that the dark blue cloak was made of some sort of soft wool. Winnie’s fingers ran over the silver criss-cross embroidery at the cloak’s edges.

            “It’s beautiful! But where—?”

            “Sissy and I made it for you before Britomart was born.”

            “This is very generous of you, thank you.”

            Winnie threw the cloak over her shoulders and clasped the silver-heart clasps together.

            “Thank you, priestess. May this cloak protect you from the elements as you blessing of Light will protect Britomart from the darkness.”

            “Thank you. Light be with you!”

            “And with you! Good night, priestess!”

            And with that, Winnie took off into the night. She passed three homes before arriving at her own, and she could smell Papa Sourbrew before she saw him. He had brought out one of the wood dining chairs out onto the small porch to sit on as he smoked his short wood pipe. Winnie’s nose twitched at the new scent, which wasn’t the sweet smell of vanilla-flavored silverleaf, but something strong and rich.

            Papa took the pipe out of his mouth and said, “Well, so the great priestess returns. How’s the wee one?”

            “Good as gold,” said Winnie. She went inside for a few minutes, and returned with her own chair and her favorite red pipe. Papa offered her the small tin of smoked tobacco. “This smells new.”

            As she started filling her bowl, Papa said, “It is. Steel bloom from the Arathi Highlands. I thought I’d give something new a try.”

            “I hadn’t heard of a farm up there.”

            “I just heard about them a few months ago. They’re called Red Rugged Farm, and apparently they grow a certain breed of steel bloom, smoked it in a whiskey barrel, and send it only to Ironforge. It’s good, though. Nice and smooth.”

            “I see,” said Winnie, finishing up with tamping the bowl. Papa handed her a match and she struck it against the sole of her shoe.

            “Ah, looks like you got a new cloak too,” said Papa, “The family give it to you?”

            “Mm,” she murmured as she lit her pipe.

            “That was good of ’em.”

            “It was.”

            Papa relit and the both of them were enveloped in the white, swirling smoke.

            “This is such a peaceful place, and with good people too. No one’s…eh…given you any trouble, have they?”

            “No.”

            “You would tell me if they had, wouldn’t you?”

            “Of course, and in case I couldn’t tell you, Evina would.”

            “Right.”

            They sat for over an hour, staring up at the stars through the gossamer of steel bloom smoke. Winnie wanted change the conversation, so neither she nor her Papa would have to go to bed with thoughts of past arguments and insults long forgiven for. However, the silence between them comforted Winnie. The silence and the smoke pushed those old, hated memories further back into the dark recesses of her mind.

            After the hour, Papa said, “Well, that ought to be enough for tonight, don’t you think?”

            Winnie nodded. Papa packed up the tobacco and brought in their pipes whilst Winnie brought in the chairs. At almost midnight, the last candle was blown out.


	8. Leda

Blood hot. Nose, fingers cold. Sounds. So many sounds she could now hear. Air flowing around an owl's wing, a mouse's heartbeat, a spider digging up its new home—

"Leda!"

Leda opened her wide eyes, seeing the trees distinctly in the moonlight. Gregory.

"Leda, where are you?" he called out again and let out a crackling cry, "Leda, I…"

Fwump. He must have collapsed, she thought, but refused to move from behind this big black tree to see if she was right. The urge might come again. Wriggling, biting, roaring, the urge might come again. The hunger.

She heard his panting gasps. Not just heard, but saw in her mind's eye his white lungs inhaling and exhaling the smoky air, contracting and expanding. The urge started to claw up from the bite mark on the side of her abdomen all the way up to the top of her spine. She got up and staggered forward, her arms wrapped around her stomach.

"I…hear…" he whispered, inaudible by any other ears but Leda's. His breaths grew fainter. He would die. But to Leda, death was better than becoming a monster. Leda collapsed, her right arm catching her fall. She wasn't dumb. She could feel it in her blood that she was becoming one of them, the same sort of monster that bit her flesh before she could stab it in the throat.

Goosebumps crawled over her skin like small spiders. Sweat ran down her back and pooled in her underarms. Gray, short fur sprouted on her lengthening fingers. Only a matter of—

LLL

He was still alive. She could smell it.

She stalked the young man who lay flat down in the grass, barely breathing. On all fours she encircled him, her mind turning and turning. On the one hand, she could leave him there for some other humans to find him. Maybe they could fix him. Her nostrils flared opened, taking in a great whiff of the air. Canon fire. Blood. Steel. Sweat. A thousand new scents she never experienced before permeated her brain. Her eyes met his glassy ones, lit by the moonlight.

She ripped his shirt with her claws and raked her teeth across his skin. Her body went hot at the smell of his blood as she licked it off his skin. She wanted to bite, crush, chew this young man's body to a bloody pulp, but she fought the instinct down. A taste was enough to sate her for now.

Something pricked her thigh. She whipped around, angry that she let her blood lust distract her so, but she could not see a living thing. But she could smell them. Oh yes, she could smell them. At least three other people carrying something that smelled acrid surrounded them. A glint by her paw, was that a needle? Yes, it looked like it. The scent of her blood and skin and acridity came off of it. Gave her something. They something.

She stepped forward in direction of the human scents, took another step, and another. The fourth step she wobbled. They. Something. Acrid. Earth.

She collapsed, her mind floating above her, above the humans, above the trees, above all of Azeroth…

LLL

Her head ached. Her neck ached. Her arms ached. Her legs ached. Her back ached. She opened her eyes and found herself standing in a stockade. Closing her eyes tight, her mind went inside her body to feel herself. Everything felt longer, as if she'd been stretched out like a drying piece of hide. Her eyes opened, and she looked down the end of her brown snout with a very black canine nose.

There were other wolf-creatures like her, strapped up in stockades and lined up in a semi-circle in an outside courtyard. An old man in a white coat came up to her, smiling.

"Good morning," he said, wiping off tiny rain drops off of his glasses. "How are we feelin' today?"

She felt her ears droop. "Poorly."

She coughed, surprised by her own voice. She never had a particularly bird-like voice before, but this voice sounded like a wolf with blood in its throat.

"As I expect," said the doctor. "I'm going to ask you a series of questions and then I'll give you something that might make you better. First, what is your name?"

"Leda Stoneshir."

"Good. Now do you remember biting a young man, late teens, black hair—"

"Yes," she said, but wished she had bit her tongue. "My…my last memory."

"Why did you do that?"

The answer leapt from her mouth. "I wanted to." Horror and pride swirled in her heart. "I don't know why I wanted to, but I did. It was right after I changed into…into this."

"Do you know who this man is?"

Leda nodded. "He is my cousin, Gregory Stoneshir. He—I was running away from him."

The doctor's fuzzy white eyebrows rose. "Why were you running away?"

"I had been bitten by one of those creatures, and I didn't know what would happen to me or Gregory because of it."

"But he ran after you."

"Yes," she said, and chuckled. The gravely laugh frightened her. "Because he's too loyal for his own good. I told him to stay at home, go in the cellar, lock it and not to leave it until a guard came looking for him."

"Why aren't you coming too? There's room for both of us." His voice echoed in her mind, but she didn't tell the doctor that.

She sighed and said, "He didn't listen. He's been transformed into these…?"

The doctor's hard face softened. He began unlocking the stockade.

"Worgen," the doctor answered. "And yes, he did. But I administered the same serum I've given to you that brought back his sanity, as it has yours."

He released her from the stockade and pointed down the narrow streets of the town. The windows of those dark, angular houses seemed to glare at her.

"Go to the second house on the left. Your cousin is there still recuperating from his respiratory attack."

Leda stepped forward, feeling odd and stretched and full of bones too large for such a small bit of skin, but she was able to walk. Instinct, she thought. This new instinct she gained from that worgen's cursed bite knew how to walk properly in this long, lanky figure. But it knew other things, nastier things, she felt. She hated it.

She curled her fists and uncurled them, watching the long, furry fingers with their black claws unroll. The wet stones were cold against the pads of her feet. She touched her leather leggings and vest, which were still in good shape considering the extra stretching. She touched her long arms, thick elbows, and lean shoulders. She buried her fists in her pockets before they could touch her face.

After Leda was let into the cramped two-story house filled with domesticated monsters such as herself, she could smell Gregory. Without having to be led, she found the young worgen lying on an old, musty couch, in the attic of the house. Staring up at the ceiling, he breathed long and slow. A candle sat flickering at the foot of the couch, lighting the wooden boxes that crowded each other in the tiny room.

"Gregory," Leda said, and he turned his head, all covered in pitch-black fur, to look at her.

"Leda, is that you?" he whimpered.

"Yes," she said, kneeling by him. "It's me."

The two looked away from each other. The bloodlust in the pit of Leda's stomach began to rumble.

"I'm sorry I turned you into this," Leda said.

"The monster did this, not you."

"The monster was me, Gregory."

He shook his head. "No, there's a difference. I could tell. The worgen that stared at me was a monster, not you."

Leda smiled, trembling a little in the legs but smiling.

"You're a good kid."

Even though his form was large and hideous, even though he was covered in black fur and his eyes glowed yellow, she saw the young man she raised in his smile. She pulled up a stool besides him and slouched on it.

"Do you think my parents have been transformed too?" he asked her in a hoarse whisper.

He was quiet for a long time.

Leda shrugged. "That or they're dead."

She watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed his spit. He stared up at the dusty ceiling, counting the cracks in the old wooden planks.

"What are you thinking?" she said in a low whisper.

"Nothin'." His yellow eyes flicked up and down the wooden planks.

"There's nothing wrong with wishing your parents' well," Leda said, closing her eyes. "It's only natural."

She felt herself float away back to her cabin in the Blackwald. She was human again, younger, and following a trail of blood in the snow. Her finger on the trigger of a loaded rifle, she followed the trail in the morning sunlight. The blood was only starting to rust from red to brown. She trudged deeper into the woods.

At the end of the trail lay the corpse of a great gray wolf. Underneath slept a boy about ten. Leda ran up to the boy and pulled him from under the wolf's body. A knife fell out of the wolf's body; warm blood flowed out of the wolf's chest wound and melted the snow underneath it.

"Leda?"

She opened her eyes again and felt the weight of the years and the change again.

"Yes?" she said, looking down at him.

"When I'm better, are we going to go back home?"

She looked out of the single pane window. The drizzling rain had run out, and now sunshine poked through the dark wooly clouds. She scratched her elongated chin with her thumb.

"I don't know."


	9. Cassandra Luaan

"Home sweet home," Peter Luann said as he opened the door for his daughter Cassie. He smiled under his mustache and bowed to her as she entered the dress shop. Hanging above the door in the skinny antechamber was a wooden with the words "Serving Stormwind for Over Twenty-Three Years" burned into it. She entered the main dress shop, where two wooden mannequins dressed in ivory organza held a sign that read "WELCOME HOME CASSIE!" Behind the sign, hanging on the soft pink walls was the family portrait.

In the painting, Peter and his wife Evelyn stood behind Cassie, who was sitting on a chair hidden behind her white, sparkling skirt. Cassie remembered sitting for hours at a time, feeling hot under the layers of pure white cloth and lace. She was fifteen at the time, and fidgeted a lot. Her mother stood perfectly still in the only dress she owned. The dress was made of dark blue velvet Cassie's Nana had woven. Evelyn's pearls almost glowed in contrast to the blue dress and dark, red-brown hair. The painter had initially left out a long scar along Evelyn's cheek, but Evelyn demanded that he painted it in.

Cassie turned and saw her scarred face in the mirror. Three long, black gashes split her brown face into four oblong parts. She traced the smaller scar that cut over her left eyebrow with her finger, then the longer black scar that ran over both lips, and finally the longest scar that curled over her nose and around her cheek. Under the scars was the face of a nineteen-year-old soldier.

"Well now," said Peter as he entered. Cassie pivoted around so fast that Peter jumped. He laughed, "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. Anyway, what day would like to have dinner and where would you like to eat?"

"Dinner?" she said.

"Yes, with everyone. Nana, Papa, your friends? Remember how I promised to buy dinner for everyone once you returned?"

"Oh…oh, I forgot," she said, scratching her head. "It's been a long couple of years."

"I know," he said, wrinkles forming under his glasses as he smiled, "and that's why everyone wanted to see you right away. But I knew you would want a few days to yourself."

Cassie nodded. "Yes, I need a few days to rest. We'll meet at the end of the week. I don't care what we eat."

"Well, you have a few days to think about it. Here," he said and gave Cassie a pad of paper. "Write down all the people you want to come to your welcoming dinner and I'll send out invitations tomorrow morning."

"I…all right. I'll take this to the library."

She headed towards the door to the antechamber. Her father's smile drooped.

"You don't want to stay here and rest?"

"No, I want to be alone right now."

She opened the door. Her father put on another smile.

"Yes," he said sadly. "Yes, I understand. I'm sure you didn't get much alone time up there, did you?"

Cassie shook her head and left without another word.

Afternoon light cast shadows over the cracked cobblestones of the winding roads leading to the Trade District. Cassie squeezed through shadowy alleyways towards Stormwind Keep. The massive castle loomed over her as she reached the foot of the staircase. She showed her identification to the two heavily armed guards. One pulled out a list from his satchel he wore on his armored waist, murmuring to the other guard.

"What is your purpose?" asked one guard, his deep voice echoing in his metal helmet.

"To study in the Royal Library. I should be authorized to use the library's resources. General Foxglove—"

"Yes, I see it," said the shorter guard, tapping the golden seal on her paper identification with his thumb. "Just returned from Northrend, have you?"

"Yes."

The taller guard nodded and said, "Welcome back. Follow me."

Cassie followed the guard up the stone entrance staircase of the castle where she was escorted by another guard to the library. She felt very small under the gray dome of the large library. The green and gold rugs and blue curtains couldn't keep the coldness out of the place. Cassie crossed her arms as she entered, quietly greeted by an old man in black robes with red trims.

"Welcome to the library," he whispered, gesturing to the long rows of bookcases. "Could I help you find anything?"

"Browsing," she whispered as she passed by him.

She picked a random bookcase and stared at the books it held. Mostly they were history books, at least five on the subject of Stormwind. Crammed between two books about the Deeprun Tram was a slim novel called The Missing Menethil. She pried it out and went to another bookcase, this one focused on Horde races, mostly orcs. Somehow a book about Daelin Proudmoore was sandwiched in the orc books. She took down the brown book with gold lettering that read Daelin Proudmoore's Final Stand and flipped through its pages before returning it to the shelf. She didn't feel like reading about one man's struggle against the New Horde.

Half an hour, Cassie took The Missing Menethil, Care and Keeping of Horses, and Naval Ships of the Last Century to the black-robed librarian. He smiled and said to her in a hushed voice, "Various tastes, I see. Please return these before you leave, and please sit at a table to read them."

Cassie nodded and took the books to an empty wooden table. She opened Care and Keeping of Horses and began reading. Ten silent minutes later, her leg jiggled. She rested her chin in her hands, then on the book, then on the crook of her elbow. Silence pressed against her ears. Someone coughed. She jumped in her seat, her heart pounding in her chest. A few deep breaths later she finally calmed down and looked for her place in the book again. In her mind's eye she saw her father, looking sad because she didn't want to be with him the moment she arrived home. She sighed, and lost her place in her book again. She rubbed her eyes and saw the librarian approach her.

"Maybe you will be more comfortable in the courtyard," he whispered.

"There's a courtyard for reading?"

"Oh yes. Tovald will show you."

The old librarian beckoned a younger blond librarian who Cassie assumed to be Tovald. Tovald nodded to her, then escorted her out of the cold library and into one of the sunlit courtyards just across the hallway. It was completely empty. A tree grew in the center of the square-shaped courtyard, and around that were stone seats. Cassie chose to lay on the green grass and leaned her book against her bent knees.

Small brown and blue birds twittered and sang in the tree's leafy branches. Cassie forgot about her book and listened the birds' songs. She whistled with them. Some birds fells silent, listening to her light trills. A row of birds crowded together on a nearby branch, their brown heads turning this way and that as they listened. A little gray bird flew down on her knee, chirping at her. She offered her hand to it, and it perched on her finger. She copied its whistle, and the bird puffed up in response.

Suddenly, the birds scattered at the sound of another person entering the courtyard. Cassie stopped whistling and watched the birds perch on the higher branches of the tree.

"I'm sorry, I thought there were only birds here," said the light voice of a young man.

Cassie turned the page of her book. She sighed, "It's all right." She was too tired to hide her annoyance.

"Is it all right if I feed the birds here?"

"It's not my courtyard, so feel free."

"Thank you."

She heard the soft rustle of cloth. Her eyes flitted upwards, and the birds swooped out of the tree and to the direction of the young man's voice. She turned her attention back to her book, which explained the importance of shoeing your horse.

"How did you learn to mimic bird calls?"

Cassie sighed again, having lost her place.

"My mother taught me," she said.

"She taught you well."

Cassie wished he would leave soon. The courtyard felt too small with both of them in it. She waited for him to say something else, but he was silent. After a few minutes of reading the same paragraph three times, she sat up and scratched the loose bits of grass out of her hair. She heard him slap his hands together.

"Have a good afternoon," the young man said.

"And you—" she said, turning around.

From his back she could tell he was a young teenager and very wealthy by the type of fabric he wore. For a moment she wondered who he was as he walked down the steep antechamber. She stood up and dusted off her trousers. The birds were back in their tree, singing as the evening came on. Papa would want her to come home.

"I don't want to go home," she told the birds.

Home was where Papa was. Cassie knew she had to come home, because that was where she had to be. She picked up the book she barely read and the two other she didn't even open and dropped them off at the library. A guard escorted her out of the Keep. By the time she reached home, her father was embroidering a green dress by candlelight.

"Have a nice time out?" he asked, his face half in shadow.

"Yes," she answered, a foot on the staircase that lead to their bedrooms upstairs.

"Which library did you go to?"

Cassie took another step up.

"The Royal Library."

Her father's brown eyes widened behind his glasses.

"Oh, fantastic! I heard that it's a beautiful library."

"It is. Good night."

"Did you write the list of people you want to have for dinner?"

"I…I'm almost done with it. I'm going to finish it in the morning."

"All right. Good night."

"'Night."

Cassie hopped up the staircase before her father told her another word. Even though the hallway was pitch black, Cassie found her bedroom by running her hand against the wall. Shafts of moonlight fell from her window and on her bed and nightstand. She shoved the pad of paper into her nightstand drawer and collapsed on her bed. She would bullshit a list in the morning.

Her hands ran over her tired, scabbed face. She closed her eyes, hoping to go to sleep in a moment. An hour passed of her tossing and turning, keeping her eyes shut to force her to go to sleep.

She opened her eyes and saw a great silver sword fall at her head.

Screaming, Cassie clawed at the black air. She sat up, wheezing and cold with sweat. Her muscles strained to get out of bed. Breath was sucked out of her lungs by an invisible being, and in her final cold moments she heard a brittle laugh.

CCC

Cassie woke with a start on the floor of her bedroom; her nose full of morning mucous and the sun warm on her back. She sat up and blew her nose on her sleeve. Her face felt hot and tight from crying in her sleep. She changed into a clean shirt and pair of brown trousers before heading across the hall and to the kitchen.

"Good morning," Papa said as he flipped a pancake. "Hungry?"

"Starving," she said, sitting at the table. A thought nibbled at her as she waited in silence. Finally, it burst out.

"Papa, where's Ma?"

He turned around, shocked.

"What…what do you mean?" he asked.

"I know it sounds stupid, but I don't know where Ma is," she said.

She held her head, which was pounding with an answer that she couldn't decipher.

"Cassie," Papa said in a soft voice, "Mama isn't here."

"Where is she, then?"

"She was buried in Northrend six months ago."

Cassie felt her heart pause.

"That can't be right. I…I just talked to her."

Papa knelt down to her at the table and whispered, "I know, honey, I know. I'm sorry, I should have told you, but I thought that if I had gotten the information about what happened, you had too. I'm so, so sorry."

Tears running down her cheeks, Cassie said, "As s-soon as I eat, I'm going down to ask what h-happened."

Cassie folded over the table, crying from the sting. It couldn't be right. Her mother couldn't be dead. It wasn't possible.

Deep in her gut, she knew that was possible. Her heart and mind refused to accept that fact.


	10. Minow

On a rainy evening the bright blue eyes of a gnome child peered out from an owl's tree hole. Her stomach flopped when she saw how far up she was in the tall pine.

"Oh…oh!" she peeped and shrank further back into the tree hole. The brown-and-white barred owl that sat almost on top of her fluffed out its chest and sighed.

"Sorry," she whispered.

The owl continued to sleep. The gnome child, Minow, ran her stubby fingers across her pink hair and whimpered. She hoped so hard that those primate-like creatures with a hungry look in their eyes could not climb as high as she could. Troggs, her mother called those creatures.

Run and don't look back, her sister's cry echoed in Minow's memory.

"R-Ruby," Minow said, wiping her eyes with her tiny fists. "Mama…P-P-Pa—"

Don't cry, or they'll find us, her father had whispered to her when they hid in their kitchen.

Minow swallowed her wail and sucked in her bottom lip. Through her blurry vision she could see that the owl was now awake, its head turned and watching her with its round, black eyes.

"S-Sorry," she said.

The owl hooted. It sidled closer and absorbed her tears with its soft feathers.

"Graugh!" called out one of the troggs from far below.

Minow curled herself into a ball and tried to hide behind the owl. The bird clicked its beak before it hooted.

"No!" Minow hissed at it.

It turned its head, hearing another owl in the distance. The owl puffed itself up again and hopped out of its nest.

"Hoohoo-hoohoo—hoohoo-hoohooooo. Hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoooo," the owl sang over the treetops.

The trogg was silent. Curled up at the back of the hole, Minow hoped that the owl was telling the trogg to go away. She noticed that it was raining harder now. Sheets of cold rain crashed on the treetops.

Crack. Crunch.

Grinding her teeth to keep her from screaming, Minow crawled to the edge of the hole and looked down at the forest floor. Her sharp eyes saw the lumbering figure of the trogg climb up the trunk of her tree. He shrieked at her in his tongue. She shrieked herself and scurried to the back of the hole. Too late, though. She was too late. The trogg had seen her and was coming up to gnash her up in his yellow teeth.

Crack. Crunch. Cra-cra-crack.

He moved faster now, she could hear it. Tears flooded her eyes and she wailed.

"Owl, come back! Mama! Papa! Sissy!"

No one heard her but the hungry trogg.

Minow felt all around the little hole for something to defend herself with, but all she could find was a twig that was thinner than her pinkie. She rolled up into a tiny ball and sat as still as she could, hoping that the trogg wouldn't notice her if she wasn't moving. Her eyes watched the opening through her pale pink bangs.

A hand the size of Minow grappled the lip of the tree hole. Minow held her breath at the sight of the trogg's thick, gray nails. The hand stunk of mud and blood. Minow squeezed her eyes shut and—

CRACK.

FWUMP.

Minow opened her eyes. The hand was gone.

Wheezing, Minow crawled to the lip of the tree hole and looked down at the forest floor again. Smashed underneath a thick, water-logged branch was the trogg. She rolled back into the hole. She shivered all over, as if her fear was running out of her. Her nose smelling something odd, she looked down and discovered she had wet herself.

"O-Oh no," she muttered before wailing once more.

She cried until her throat was hot and thirsty. It was nighttime, and so she had to feel for her tin cup she always had tied to her belt. She sat at the lip and held out her cup in the darkness. The raindrops pinged and plopped in her cup.

"Hoohoo-hoohoo. Hoohoo-hoohooooo," the owl sang faintly.

As she drank her rainwater, Minow wished that the owl would come back soon. Lightning light up the sky and thunderous boom came after it. Minow jumped in her seat and dropped her cup. She looked over and squinted down but could not see where the cup had fallen. Suddenly she imagined the cup in the hand of the dead trogg. She squeaked and rubbed her eyes, trying to get the image of the trogg out of her head. Instead, the nightmare trogg pushed the dead branch off its broken body and its gray nails—

The sky lit up a deep purple as jagged bolts of lightning struck the earth. Thunder rumbled and roared.

"Hoohoo-hoohoo. Hoohoo-hoohooooo."

Minow perked up at the song. The owl sounded closer this time. She curled up in a corner so that the owl would have room to sit and dry its feathers.

"Owwww," said something not like an owl.

Minow sat up straight and tried to listen past the rain and lightning and thunder.

"Minowwww," shouted the deep voice again.

MMM

Minow stared down at her keyboard, the last quavering note hanging in the air. Her chest heaved as if she had been running up a mountain for an hour, but her fingers still pressed down on the ivory piano keys. The memory that played in her mind so vividly evaporated with the last low note.

The gnome nearly fell over from the sudden wave of applause that thundered in the leafy Warrior's Terrace of Darnassus. A dwarf with a curly gray beard pulled her off her seat and they bowed before the crowd of cheering night elves. The rest of the gnome and dwarf orchestra came up to the grassy clearing, faced the audience, and bowed.

"High Priestess Whisperwind, Archdruid Stormrage," said the dwarf, bowing before the leaders of the nightelves. The crowd quieted down to hear the elder dwarf. "City o' Darnassus! 'Tis t'end of our concert frum t'Ironforge Music Guild. Tomorrow night will be the final concert, performed by none other t'en t'Darnassus Music Guild—"

The announcer paused for what he expected to be a sudden burst of cheers for the night elf players. Instead, the periwinkle elves looked at him with polite but puzzled looks on their faces.

"Er…heh, heh," said the dwarf. He rubbed his hands together and continued. "Yes, so t'Darnassus Music Guild will play tomorrow night, officially endin' the Alliance Music Guild's Wedding Concert in celebration of the marriage of two fine leaders. G'night everybody!"

The dwarf bowed again and lead Minow away from the applauding crowd and towards the wide staircase that lead to the Temple Gardens.

"Where are we going, Lúc?" Minow asked, turning her head back. "I thought we were going to the inn—"

"We are," he said, stopping by one of the many wooden shops that looked to have grown out of the grown. He turned her to face him and glared at her. "But first, tell me why you played t'at composition! Yeh were suppose' t'play Our Fathers, Our Land."

"I-I was going too but then I had this dream that just attacked me," Minow said, then shook her head. "No, it was an old memory. I was reliving it again. I didn't even know I was playing music."

Lúc raised an eyebrow. "Is t'at right?"

"Yes," Minow said. She scratched the bridge of her nose. "What composition was I playing?"

"I dun know, and I was hopin' you could tell me."

Minow shook her head.

"Well, save t'at piece. It was a good 'un, and I'll see to it t'at yeh play it in future concerts. Now let's go meet everyone at t'inn. They prolly reckon I killed yeh—"

Minow giggled and followed her conductor back towards the Warrior Terrace, taking a sharp left at the foot of the stairs towards the Craftsmen's Terrace. As they approached one of the large square buildings of Darnassus, they could hear the growing grumblings of dwarf, gnome, and human alike.

A dwarf woman with three long blond braids hanging down her back called out, "Lúc! They still say they ain't gotta lick o' liquor!"

The night elf inkeeper, Saelienne, stared down at the lot of them. "I am sorry to disappoint you all, but as I've told you before, I do not sell alcohol," she said, her cheeks darkening. She gulped and said. "I have watermelon and other nutritious fruits that may be to your liking."

"All righ', all righ'!" Lúc shouted over them all, raising his hands to quiet the crowd of thirsty musicians down. "Now look, there's no need to harass t'wee elf. We'll just head on over to t'at tree portal and meet my brother on t'odder side, who should be bringin' enough kegs o' ale for all of us!"

Minow cheered with the crowd. Perhaps it was from living with the dwarves since she was a child, but to not have at least a half of a half pint of beer per day threw her day off by at least fifteen minutes.

"Minnie!" a bright green-haired gnome squeaked as she ran up to Minow. "You were great up there!" She switched from Common to Gnomish. "Lúc looked like he was partly gonna kill you and kiss you at the same time."

Minow rolled her eyes. "I hope you recorded it, Tizzy."

"I didn't forget," she said a patted a pouch on her utility belt that was decorated with golded swirls of embroidery, "especially since you were playing that beautiful piece. What's it's name?"

"I don't know. It just kind of came to me."

"Well, I think it warrants a name change. The high priestess and archdruid looked very impressed by it!"

A bald gnome that marched besides them piped up. "How about Minow Nimblefingers?"

"That's my name!" another gnome said, hidden amongst the legs taller than him.

"Minow Newsong?" yelled another gnome.

"Minow Newpianosong!"

"Minow Keyplayer!"

A human man with a well-combed goatee snorted, "Egads, what's got you all in a flutter?"

While the other gnomes were outshouting each other to explain to him the importance of last names, Minow sighed, "I don't think so, Tizzy. I can't even remember the song I would supposedly be remembered for!"

Tizzy winked at Minow and whispered, "Don't worry, when we get back to Ironforge you can help me with something that'll earn you a name to remember."

Minow nodded back at her, the gears in her brain turning. Half of her brain tried to remember the song she played for all of Darnassus, while the other chased after the memory that brought on the composition. The memory wasn't as strong as it was before, but she felt the same flame of hope in her heart when she saw in her mind's eye a dwarf with a curly brown beard standing at the foot of the tree with the brown-and-white owl perched on his shoulder.


	11. Mishka

_Somewhere in the universe the_ Genedar _weaves its way through the fabric of time and space in search of a new hiding place. Deep within its Light-laced walls is a small antechamber with a single table. Upon its silver surface are five newborns, each different in their deformity. Prophet Velen enters the room._

_He picks up the first newborn. The male infant thrashes and cries at Velen's touch. Velen rocks him in his thin arms and eventually the baby calms down, his tiny fingers grasping at Velen's beard and robes. The old prophet can't help but smile at him. Though the infant is blind and deaf, he is quite unafraid to explore with his fingers now that he wasn't startled by an unseen touch._

_"Keep that spirit, little one," Velen murmurs as he sets the boy down._

_The second infant is unresponsive to his touch. He picks her up and cradles her as he prods her mind. She is alive and seemingly healthy save for her inability to voluntarily move. He hears her cries of frustration in his mind._ _He gently lays her back down._

_He moves on to the third and forth infants, who are twin boys conjoined at the head and hip. He knows separating them would kill them both, yet conjoined they would only live for a few more weeks before they succumbed to organ failure. Their parents are still undecided as to what to do, and have asked for his council. His heart is still undecided as he looks at the sleeping twins who curl up together on the cool table. He lets them sleep and moves on to the last infant._

_The tiny girl grasps his wizened finger and tries to bring it to her mouth when he examines her. Strangely enough her tail is fully developed, but all she has are stubs to serve for legs. He frees his finger from her grasp so he can give each infant a special prayer to help them during their, hopefully long and prosperous, life. After the prayer he calls for the parents to present them their newly blessed children, but asks the parents of the conjoined twins to converse with him privately in the antechamber._

Gentle music began to play in the sensory deprivation tank and the hallucination melted back into the darkness. Her fingers and tail twitched as they regained their senses that were lost while floating in the saline water for so long. The door opened above her and the dim blue light stung her eyes, but she grabbed the edge of the opening and pulled herself up. The therapist took her around her middle and pulled her out of the chamber and onto pile of towels on the floor. She let her arms hang by the rounded edges of where her knees should have formed, but didn't. She felt him put a towel around her bare shoulders.

"Thank you," she said to as she rubbed herself dry with it.

Mishka wrapped the towel around her slumped, naked body. This trip to the tank was not as relaxing as she hoped it would be. Before her hallucinations took her to glittering rainbow worlds with dancing pink elekks and sweet cinnamon rain. Never before had it brought up a memory she had hoped to squish out of existence. She pinched her tingling skin that was softened from the salt water. Only a few weeks ago the Exodar came screaming down from the heavens into Azeroth. Mishka had been sleeping in her suspension pod until she awoke to find her pod at the bottom of a lake and filling with water. She had managed to break open the glass lid of the pod and swim out but blacked out before she could reach the surface. It was by the grace of the Light that someone had saw her in the water and resuscitated her just moments after she lost consciousness.

"Would you like me to escort you to the showers?" the therapist asked, breaking her away from her thoughts.

"Yes, if you could."

She followed him to the showers, a dome that was dimly lit by violet fires in the hanging golden braziers. Twelve slender shower heads hung from the ceiling, and twelve sets of wood stools, buckets, soap, and brushes lined the walls. Misha gave the therapist her towel and chose the shower farthest away from the door. By the time she reached her spot, he had left. She settled herself on the stool and pressed the single flat button on the wall in front of her twice. Streams of warm water fell from the ceiling in diamond patterns before hitting her. With a sigh she started washing the salt out of her burgandy hair.

She counted her blessings amid all of the chaos that finally seemed to be settling down. She was back to weaving blankets and tapestries instead of just bandages, her sister Ciere was set up with her feeding tube, neurotranslator, and house aide, and Tal'Vathion-

Mishka stopped scrubbing her hair. What  _was_  Tal'Vathion up to these days? Her friend was probably on some important business with the other mages. At least, she hoped so. They had found each other the day after the crash and even though he was bruised all over and wore several bandages, he was ecstatic because this would be the chance that he could finally do some important fieldwork. There was too much work for the other mages to  _not_ assign him to do something other than inscribing the same five glyphs he had been inscribing for the last hundred or so years.

The shower stopped, but Mishka still sat on her stool. She wrung her hair so tightly that it pulled at her scalp. She prayed that the other mages gave him more substantial work to do or he would be crushed.

Mishka finished up with the showers, dressed, strapped herself in her wheelchair, and left for the Crystal Hall where the enchanters worked. When entered the cavernous hall that was dimly lit by pink stalactites, she approached the small group of enchanters arguing over a long document with glowing runes. She did not see Tal'Vathion at his usual table and stool with his red cane leaning against the wall. The eldest enchanter who was clad in blue and gold robes, Nahogg, looked up and nodded towards her in greeting. The three other enchanters stopped their bickering and stared her down.

"Hello," she mumbled to them all, "I was looking for Tal."

"He left," Nahogg said with a strained smile.

"Left?"

"Yes. He said that he's going to Dalaran."

Mishka blinked."Where?"

"It is a mage city that was destroyed by the Burning Legion some time ago, but this group of mages called the Kirin Tor has begun to rebuild it. I only know this because a week ago a gnome came here, and she said she was from the Kirin Tor."

"Why is he going, then? He's not apart of this Kirin Tor."

"No, but she and Tal hit it off really well. I've never talked to a gnome before, but she had a fairly good grasp of Draenic when I'm still struggling with the basics of Common grammar!"

One of the younger enchanters added with an air of annoyance, "She was very strange."

Mishka was flummoxed. "He never said anything to me about a gnome."

"He never told us that he was leaving for Dalaran tomorrow until he came in this morning."

"T-Tomorrow? Oh Light, Light, Light—" she said as she left the group to themselves.

Her heart beat very fast in her chest as she made her way up the long, sloping metal pathway that curved along the Seat of the Naaru: the massive chamber that connected all sections of the  _Exodar_. Misha could hear the gentle chime of the Nauru O'ros as she pushed herself up to the very top of the ship and into one of the many smaller pathways that led into the residential area. These honeycomb walls that once held thousands of stasis pods were now converted into one-roomed residencies for those who wished to still live in the  _Exodar_.

Mishka pressed the doorbell again and again until the hexagonal door finally slid open, revealing her old friend Tal'Vathion. He stood tall in his plain white robes, his black hair hanging loose over his shoulders. Unlike the other men, he wore no rings or jewels on his long tail or the four thin blue chin tendrils.

"Have patience for the blind and deaf," he grumbled as he tapped his red cane over the threshold.

When his cane tapped the wheel of his wheelchair, he stopped. His eyebrows furrowed over his always closed eyes as he scowled. Mishka took his free hand and placed his fingertips on her lips.

Forcing herself to not speak too quickly she said, "Were you just going to leave without a word?"

Tal's quivering fingers stiffened and he bit his upper lip.

"I was going to leave you a note-" he started.

"That's still leaving without a word! Why didn't you tell me about…about all of this?"

He sighed and took his hand away to sign,  _Come in, I will explain._

She followed him into the tight quarters of his apartment that contained a low, round mattress, a table, a chair, and make-shift bookshelf out of a couple of slabs of metal and dimly glowing crystals. He shuffled across the floor, took his seat and waited until she took his hand, put it on her lips again, and said, "I'm ready to hear your excuse."

"I know how you are, Mishka, and you would have tried to talk me out of it like you're doing now."

"Because you are doing something stupid and dangerous."

"I'll be under the watchful eyes of very powerful mages, if that's what you're worried about."

"You barely know one of their wizards and know nothing about the others. You are safe here. This is your home."

"It is, and I want to leave it."

"Why?"

He took his hand away from Mishka and took a deep breath, his face tightening in frustration. At first Mishka thought that he was simply at a loss for words, but suddenly his hands flew up and he signed his frustrations much more quickly than he could speak it.

_I've outgrown it. I'm sick of being Nahogg's paper pusher while everyone else is doing the important work. He told me that he only wanted to protect me, that he didn't want me to get hurt. I wouldn't have become a mage if I were afraid of getting hurt. They don't trust my abilities, Mishka. I've known them for hundreds of years and they don't think I'm capable of performing magic more complex than the basic runes._

He held out his hand for Mishka, and she guided his fingers to her lips, and so their conversation continued.

"They're coming from good intentions—"

_Their good intentions will keep me from my full potential. This is a new world. This is a chance to start a new life and live the way I've always wanted to live. You should take this golden opportunity too, Mishka._

"I don't know magic nor do I intend to learn it."

_I'm not talking about that. I know that you only went into the weaving business because that was what your family did. Is it truly what you want to do for the rest of your life?_

She gripped the arm of her wheel chair. "I don't know any other trade. I only know how to weave, and I am content with it."

_If you are content, then so be it. I am not content with my life, and I am going to live in this new city that I will help rebuild with my own magic._

"You do that, then, and I hope you are content."

Her sudden tears that rolled down her face surprised her. She turned away from him and looked down at her hands in her lap. Tal found her hands and squeezed them. Their anger gradually dissipated into the air, only to be replaced with grief. Tal turned over one of her hands and signed in it.  _I'm sorry. I should have told you as soon as told Rubixie I would come with her to Dalaran._

Misha turned over his other hand and signed.  _Rubixie?_

 _The gnome mage who told me about Dalaran. Perhaps you will meet her tomorrow at the docks, when we leave the_ Exodar _?_

_Yes._

Mishka wanted to tell Tal again that she didn't want him to leave, but she balled her fist and resisted. She couldn't tell him what to do anymore than he could tell her what to do. His leaving was another change in the growing quantity of changes she had to deal with over the last few weeks.  _Count your blessings_ , she thought to herself.  _You and Ciere are safe, you are weaving more than bandages, Tal'Vathion will be accompanied to this new city_.

A tiny mew broke Mishka's concentration. A tiny kitten with bright blue eyes and long, wiry brown and black fur stumbled out from under the white bedsheets and onto Tal's right hoof.

"I had almost forgotten," Tal said as he scooped up the kitten with one hand and offered it to Mishka. "When Rubixie and I were talking by the docks, a ship had come in with a cat who had recently had kittens and was giving them away."

Misha plucked up the kitten that was the size of Tal's thumb and brought it to her lap. He wiped off his hands on the side of his robe before offering a hand to Mishka.

"What is her name, or his name?" she asked.

"He doesn't have a name yet. I'll think of one up when I'm in Dalaran. Right now I'm trying to keep him away from my feet."

"Oh!" she said, and laughed. "I was wondering why you were shuffling across the floor. I thought you were just sulking!"

He laughed with her. "I was sulking a little, yes."

They chatted more lightly now, the nameless kitten eventually tumbling out of Mishka's lap to play with the spokes on her wheelchair. Though Mishka was finally starting to relax and enjoy her last moments with him as his friend and neighbor for almost four hundred years, she couldn't melt the little lump of bitter grief that grew from her heart like a stalactite. Suddenly Tal stopped speaking and gently squeezed her hand.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I am going to miss you very much, Mishka," he croaked as if he was as near to tears as she was. "I'm sure if I ask Rubixie, you can come with us."

Mishka bit her bottom lip and signed in his hand,  _Thank you, but it will be too much for me right now._

 _I understand,_  he signed in her free hand.

His gesture made her heart feel a bit lighter, more hopeful. So much had changed in her life so quickly-the loss of her parents, her home, and now Tal'Vathion.  _He is still alive, and he is doing this so he lives happily_ , she thought, then decided to add one more blessing:  _and I will be able to meet him again._


	12. Valdis

It was a cozy sort of rainy night in Auberdine. The night elf Valdis scratched behind the ear of her white saber, Melu, as she rode back home after a long night of watching over the small port town. Melu yawned, then licked his damp nose for a taste of the sweet rain.

"Let's get home before dawn, Melu," Valdis said and pressed her knees slightly against the saber's sides.

They didn't have far to go, as her small home was sandwiched in a row of small homes that were half built. Her home was the only house on that curvy street with a roof on it. In the pre-dawn shadow her home looked like a dagger among broken shafts. Valdis slid off Melu's back and opened the unpainted door.

Inside was brighter, as the lantern standing on an overturned bowl still glowed with moonlight. Melu brushed passed her to bump heads with the sleeping Friga. Sprawled out on a feather mattress, the girl snorted.

"Melu," Friga yawned, one hand lazily patting Melu's head. "Blegh, you're wet."

Valdis clicked her tongue and Melu padded over to his rider. Valdis removed his heavy saddle and head gear.

"Now don't—"

The massive tiger shook, spraying both Valdis and Friga with water. Friga giggled as the cat yawned and cuddled next to Friga, laying his head on his paws. Valdis piled the gear in the corner of the one-room house before changing into a cotton sleep shift. She laid on her belly next to Friga, her head resting on her folded arms and her violet hair pooled over her shoulders and Friga's back.

"Had a good night at school?" Valdis whispered.

"Mmm-hmm."

"Learn anything interesting?"

"No."

"Well, were you dreaming of anything interesting?"

"Yes."

"What were you dreaming of?"

"Father. He took me to the Emerald Dream."

"Really? What did it look like?"

"Well, the sky was purple and the trees were a lot taller. Father took me to the cliff where the inn is, but the inn wasn't there! It was just really tall grass."

"And then what happened?"

"Father talked to me a little, but I couldn't hear what he was saying. Then he said that he wasn't coming home. Then I woke up. Father is coming back, isn't he?"

Valdis stroked her daughter's long hair.

"Go to sleep, Friga."

Her voice cracking, Friga said, "Please tell me—"

"If I tell you, you won't be able to sleep."

"I can't sleep. Is Father going to come back?"

"I don't know."

"Why?"

"We're not…happy with each other, like a husband and wife should be. A lot of things have happened where we don't want to be living together right now."

"So, that's why we moved here, and why Father's in the Dream?"

"Yes."

"Is he coming back?"

"I told you, I don't know. Don't cry, don't cry."

Friga wiped her wet cheeks with her wrists, still sniffling.

"What's going to happened?" Friga asked.

"I don't know."

"I want to know!"

"We have to be patient, and wait."

"What happened?"

"You're going to cry again. I want you to sleep."

"I want to know what happened."

"Many things over 10,000 years."

"What do you mean?"

Valdis stopped petting Friga. Had Friga planned to surprise her like this? Her watery eyes looked so hurt, so full of pain to learn the truth.

"I…" Valdis started, inhaling slowly. She sighed. "I cheated on your father with four other men."

Friga's tears dried up. She stared at her mother, not believing her own ears.

"When Father was sleeping?" she whispered.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"It's a long story."

"Tell me."

It was a cozy sort of rainy morning in Auberdine. Even as Valdis and Friga lay next to each other in silence, soft pitter-patters echoed from the roof. It was a comforting sound that filled the almost-empty room.

"I'll tell you some of it," said Valdis. "Only what you need to know."

Friga's eyes widened.

"After the first thousand years of your father's sleep, I grew restless and lonely. That was when I met—"

Suddenly, their home came crashing down as Deathwing ripped through Auberdine.


	13. Tamatanga, Part 1

It was moldy and green and truth be told she wasn't sure what it was, except that it was food. She shoved the lumpy loaf into her mouth and swallowed it before she had to taste too much of it. Her stomach gurgled.

"I know, I know," she grumbled at it as she clambered out of the green dumpster. "We were lucky to find even that."

She looked behind her to check on the sleeping baby on her back. All he'd do for the next three months would sleep, suckle, shit, and cry. After the three-month mark he'd get to walking and at six months he'd be able to follow a few simple commands. Tamatanga suddenly felt exhausted at the thought of having to wait so long for him to be able work.

Trudging towards the next dumpster behind Salizzars's Pizzeria, Tamatanga thought of Jaz and his big house full of food and cola. The last time they had met Jaz took one look at what the past month of dumpster diving and nursing had done to Tamatanga and proposed that the two stay with him until she was able to find work.

"That's real nice of you to offer, Jaz," she had said while shaking her head, "but it's a debt I can't ever pay back."

"You won't have to pay it back. We're friends, right? There's no debts between good friends," he said before knocking back the rest of his cola. He leaned deep in his plush purple seats, his legs widening before her.

"All that fizz isn't good for you, Jaz," she said as she pushed her legs closer together.

"You should name him Fizz, or something like it."

Tamatanga finished the rest of the sandwich he had offered her so she wouldn't have to answer. A week had passed since that strange meeting. Jaz had always been strange, though, even when they were all slaves together. He liked to give things away and not expect anything back because it made him feel good, he had told her and Nib. She squeezed the sharp bottle cap she threaded a wire through and wore as a necklace. Her mind left her memories and focused on finding the next crumb of food.

She turned the corner and into an alley, where she could see that the pizza hut's dumpster was barren. Desperate she jumped into it anyway, scrounging for even a drop of pineapple juice.

"Damn it!" she shouted, pounding her fists against the metal. The baby on her back shrieked and wailed.

"Oh shut up," she said as she hopped out of dumpster again. Her stomach gurgled with a sharp prick of hunger to it. Maybe the thing she ate earlier wasn't food after all. Fingers grasping at her sore head she tried to remember the different garbage collection routes and where to go next.

That's when her eyes fell on a half-crumpled sign on the cracked cement. On the poster was a print of the Goblin Lisa with the following message below it:

COME ONE, COME ALL TO THE GREAT KEZAN ARTSHOW

ONLY AT GALLYWIX'S VILLA!

SEE THE GREAT TRADE PRINCE GALLYWIX

see some art

WIN THE CHANCE TO BE THE TRADE PRINCE'S ARTIST!

In tiny print below were instructions on how to be a candidate for the trade prince's official artist. Get paid to sit around and paint? Fantastic! But her heart fell as quickly as it rose by just looking at the majestic black-and-white print of the Goblin Lisa. She could barely use finger paints. She'd be laughed out of the competition and waste dumpster-diving time as well. Letting out a heavy sigh, she stood up and stretched.

The warm bottle-cap scraped against her collarbone. She gasped, eyes growing wide as an idea lit up her neurons. She jumped up into the air and shouted, "Abstract art!"

She rolled up the poster and held onto it tight as she ran back to Drudgetown, her brilliant idea burning in her mind. As soon as she arrived at her raggedy tent she unfurled the poster blank-side up and held it flat with a couple of stones. Quickly she felt her back to check on the now-quiet baby. He sneezed.

"Good," she panted. Her stomach grumbled in reply.

Without another word Tamatanga jogged down the smog-stained ground to the oily pond. She skimmed some of the black stuff on her fingers and ran back to the poster and smeared her hands all over it.

"Now what," she muttered as she leaned back to scrutinize her messy artwork. Out of the corner of her eye she spied an orange wad of gum drying out on the side of a burnt-out trashcan. A moment later she was scraping the gum off with a broken piece of glass.

Most of the gum came off the can only to stick itself to the ragged edge of the glass. Tamtanga tried to scrape the gum off onto the paper but ended up tearing the paper. She grumbled to herself as she pulled off the gum and squashed it on the tear.

"Whatcha doin'?" said a bored voice.

Tamatanga jumped. Her hand squeezed against the glass and she yowled. Twisting around she saw that it was her neighbor Gabble, a stocky goblin who always sucked on wood chips when he got them. Tamatanga threw the glass piece at him.

"Look what you made me do!" she shouted, showing her cut left palm.

He put his hands up like the fuzz was on him. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, watch where you throw that. I was just being neighborly-like."

"Do it somewhere else. I've got work to do."

"Well, when you're done with 'work'," he said with a grin, "swing down to my little sinkhole and we'll have some fun."

She rolled her eyes.

"I ain't got time tonight, go find someone else who has time to burn."

He shook his head and took a woodchip out of his pocket. "I only have time for you, babycakes, and you used to have a little time on the side for me, too."

He sauntered a little closer to her and she pushed him back, leaving blood on his sweat-stained tank. Glaring at her with his little yellow eyes he muttered, "Cold bitch," before moving on.

Her entire body tensed up as she watched him saunter to another tent that was far away from hers. She curled her fists, her left hand stinging.

"Stupid son of a bitch," she said as she smack her hurt hand against the painting.

The next morning Tamatanga was the first to arrive at Gallywix's grand villa and assigned to a spot by his outdoor pool to display her art. After her fight with Gabble, she scrounged around and found some cold ash to rub the edges of the painting with. The blood smear darkened from a bright red to an old brown. She was given an easel to place her painting on, which was curling at the edges. She cursed at the painting and tried to straighten its corners when she heard a "Well, well, well."

Tamatanga whipped around and saw Jaz come over with Nib in tow. Her baby, who she tied on her back, laughed. She felt her face grow hot.

"Well, well, well what?" she asked Jaz, arms akimbo.

"Nothin', I'm just surprised to see you here!" Jaz laughed. He patted Nib's shoulder and said, "Hey, Nib, look at this. Who knew Tamatanga was such an artist?"  
Nib finally looked at her, a blond eyebrow raised. "You hoping to be Gallywix's new artist?"

She shot him a look back. "Gotta feed myself somehow."

Suddenly there was a surge of goblins either desperate to find a spot or out to check the newest trend in art. A goblin dressed head-to-toe in slime-green polyester with flashing gold sunglasses and a bedazzled belt popped out of the crowd.

"Tamatanga, baby! How ya doin'?" said the goblin, his arms wide open as if he could hug the world.

"Flash?" Tamatanga, Nib, and Jaz cried out.

"The one and only. Hey Tamatanga, let me see that kid of yours."

Tamatanga turned around and Flash pinched the infant's thin cheeks.

"Ohhhh, you little genius you. I hope you don't mind, Tamatanga, but I took your idea of using a wrap to strap multiple babies to your back and those little burlap wraps sold like hotcakes!"

Tamatanga whipped around again. "You did what? Without telling me?"

Flash patted her head with two fingers and continued, "Now Tamatanga, there's no need to get upset. I have been meaning to find you and give you a cut for coming up with the idea, but, well, I guess you can say I enjoyed myself a little too much these last few weeks."

"Glad to know someone has," Tamatanga grumbled.

"No kidding," said Nib as he shook his head.

For a while they talked about what kind of cut Tamatanga would be getting, about the odds of the next footbomb game, about whether or not the Trade Prince himself would actually be coming down to judge the artwork. Oily crab puffs were offered by wait staff, and Flash took one and mushed a little of it between his fingers before feeding it to the baby.

"First food?" Flash asked as he chomped down the rest of the puff.

"Yeah," Tamatanga sighed, then said, "He likes my milk too much."

"Half of my kids are like that, but I'm going to get them to try solids again. My house is going to stink to high heaven, though."

He winked at her, and she smiled. She was still mad that he stole her baby-wrap idea from her, but she was glad that she had at least one friend who knew the pressure of supporting children. In fact, she felt happier than she had in a while. She missed chewing the fat with her old pals a lot more than she realized. Her eyes turned to Nib, who was looking at her in shock.

"Oh no—" he said, pointing behind her.

She whipped around and saw glistening white baby vomit dribble down the painting.

"A rag, a rag!" she cried out.

"Flash is wearing one," Jaz said.

"Hey!"

Tamatanga untied the long dirty cloth she wrapped her baby in and handed the baby to Flash. As soon as she started mopping up the rotting stuff she heard a brisk voice behind her.

"And who has the pleasure of showing me their great art?"

Tamatanga dropped the cloth and stood up straight as a ramrod. She turned and saw the great Trade Prince Jastor Gallywix himself. He of course worse his finest violet ensemble with a top hat and cloak to match. Her eyes were drawn to the 24 karat gold nose ring he wore between his massive nostrils.

"Me, sir," she said as she tore her eyes away from the gold to look him in the eye.

"And your name?"

"Tamatanga."

"All right, show me what ya got so I can move on to the rest."

She stepped aside. "It's a painting, sir."

"Does it have a name?"

Of all the things to forget to do—so she spat out the first thing that came to mind.

"Drudgetown."

The trade prince stared at it, his eyes barely moving from side to side. With a swish of his fur-edged cloak the trade prince left her little group without another word about the painting. Tamatanga's ears drooped.

"Sorry, Tamatanga," Jaz said as he patted her on the shoulder. "Better luck next time."

"I'm going to go hunt down more grub," Nib said before he disappeared into the crowd.

"Wait up!" Jaz called out before going after him.

"Here you go," Flash said as he handing the baby to Tamatanga. "Gotta go make my rounds, if you catch my drift."

"Whatever, Flash."

She watched him saunter away as more goblins flooded the area, some taking a look at Tamatanga's work before moving onto the other art stands that surrounded the pool. Standing on her tiptoes Tamatanga could see a bronze statue of the trade prince sitting on a pile of coins spray-painted gold next to her stand. Further on she couldn't see any other sort of art pieces above the green ears. The baby grabbed at her breast and whined.

"Again?" she sighed. She considered sneaking out of the compound to feed him since the trade prince obviously wouldn't choose her as his artist. It'd be easy to sneak out in this crowd and get a jump on the dumpster diving too. The baby yanked on her breast.

"All right, all right," she said as she turned her back to the crowd and partially unbuttoned her fraying brown shirt to let the baby feed. She watched him clamp on and suck, his eyes half-closed contentment. She stroked his ears, which had doubled in size and fanned out away from his head. In a low whisper she added, "Fezzrik."

The lure of free food and drinks that passed her booth every fifteen minutes kept Tamatanga from leaving the art show. Just as the sun was setting a couple of pale mooks approached her.

"You Tamatanga?" the taller of the two asked, his arms crossed.

"Yeah."

"We take that painting."

She shrugged. "Go ahead."

The shorter, stouter mook picked up the painting with one hand and walked towards the villa. The taller mook said to her, "Follow us."

"Where are we goin'?"

"You'll see."

She followed them to the front steps of Gallywix's villa and in between the brick pillars that were adorned with strings of humming lights. Her heart beat fast as she watched the growing crowd look up at her with surprised or envious glares. A small smile crept on her lips as she quickly figured out what was going on. Suddenly the trade prince clasped his hand on her shoulder as he came from behind her, stinking of beer and cologne.

In a bellowing voice he said, "Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the winner of the art show and my new personal artist…er…"

"Tamatanga," she whispered.

"Tamatanga! Let's give her a hand, eh?"

Most of the crowd exploded with claps and whistles and cheers for the woman who had stolen banana peels out of their trashcans. Tamatanga spotted out Flash and Jaz wooping in the air, but couldn't find Nib at all. She waved back at them all, a sense of relief filling her empty stomach. Gallywix released her and wiped his hands with a spotted handkerchief. A polka band filed out from the front door, blaring out a fast tune as mooks from the second level dumped out shiny confetti into the eyes and ears of the crowd below.

TTT

The only thing Tamatanga expected for being the trade prince's artist was food and a little coin to line her pockets, not a furnished two-story house. Unfortunately there wasn't any food in the pantries or the fridge, but in the living room there was a note left for her on the metal coffee table.

To the winner,

As payment for your services, you are awarded this house, its furniture, its water, and its electricity. In two weeks your most profitable and handsome Trade Prince will be hosting a gallery of your work, and will check on your progress next week.

Signed,

Rexi Fatfingers, Secretary of the Trade Prince

Right below that in a hurried and barely-legible script compared to the neat letters above it:

P.S. Take a shower. There is soap leftover from the last artist who stayed here, but you are responsible for your own soap henceforth!

She tossed the note away and headed up the creaking stairs, Fezzrik squirming in her arms. After walking down a short hallway covered in curling striped wallpaper, she found the little bathroom with a mildew-smelling toilet, a rusting metal sink, and a claw-foot porcelin bathtub. The brown mats on the floor were crusty from use and the tiles beneath it were grimy and cracked, but she walked on it barefoot. She turned the faucets on and it took her a minute to figure out that she needed to plug up the bathtub with its black stopper. Tamatanga found the bit of pink soap in sink and set it on the toilet lid. She and Fezzrik watched the clear water fill the tub. When the tub was filled she undressed herself and carefully held Fezzrik up as she stepped into the tub to take a real bath for the first time in her life.

As she washed Fezzrik first, years of dirt, dust, grime, and vomit cracked loose from her skin and sank to the bottom. She got up again to wrap Fezzrik with a stiff gray towel and laid him on the mat before going back into the tub to unbraid her hair. She had to empty and refill the tub twice to wash off as much dirt as she could with hot water before using the soap. She held onto it as tightly as she could and rubbed under her hairy arms, all over her hairy legs, and used it last in her tangled blue hair.

When the soap was used up she sat in the warm, bubbly water and looked down at herself. Never before had she seen her skin so brightly green, and it had been years since her long hair hung loose on her head. She looked down at her now-sleeping son and felt a hot lump growing in her throat.

"It's a start, Fezzrik," she said, "but there's a lot more work to be done."


	14. Tamatanga, Part 2

Tamatanga had just set up the last of her art supplies when the doorbell rang. After smoothing her new yellow tank top and taking a whiff of her armpits, she opened the front door to welcome the Trade Prince. A couple of large mooks accompanied him as he sauntered inside in his snazziest electric blue suit lined with leopard fur and fedora with a rainbow feather of the now-extinct Dudu bird stuck in the black trim.

"It's great to see you again, Your Tallest—" Tamatanga said but the trade prince cut her off.

"Yeah, yeah. I hope you've got somethin' good to show me."

"Don't worry, sir, I haven't wasted your time or your money. If you'd follow me upstairs—"

They climbed up the creaking stairs to the largest room of the house. Inside were various art pieces Tamatanga had cobbled together between work shifts (Flash had employed her and Fezzrik as a walking billboard for his Baby Slingz™). Hanging above them was a sequined baby sling full of broken bits of junk. On the floor was a mishmash of various street signs. Alongside the wall were portraits of various degrees of filthiness. A blank canvas as wide as two mooks and as tall as one sat in the middle of the room with a can of black oil and a clean rag underneath it. She showed them around, the mooks hanging behind, explaining the construction of each of the art pieces to the trade prince.

"Why don't any of these pieces have names?" he interrupted again.

"Ah, well," Tamatanga said, throwing herself into a coughing fit to buy time. "S-Sorry. Anyway. They do not have names because they are made of trash."

He stared at her, mouth hanging open a little in thought.

"Huh. Interesting," he said at last, and inwardly Tamatanga breathed a sigh of relief. He gestured to the blank canvas. "Got lazy, huh?"

"Oh no," she lied. She squeezed her bottle cap around her neck. "It's…uh, actually the centerpiece. I just couldn't start it without you."

He raised an eyebrow. "Really now? Why's that?"

She eyed the oilcan and had an idea.

"You don't mind getting a little dirty, do ya?"

"Depends on the dirt I'm rollin' in."

"Hah! It ain't nothin' like that," she said as she pulled out the oilcan. "I just need your hand print on the canvas."

He shrugged. "I suppose it can't hurt. If I get this suit dirty then you're paying for it."

Gallywix had one of his mooks paint his hands with oil and let it sit to see if it was poisoned. As the mook tried to wipe his hands clean on his bare belly, Gallywix stuck his hands in the oil and smack them against the canvas. He peeled his hands away, leaving two black marks behind. He held his hands out for Tamatanga to wipe clean with her rag.

"Give us some space, you lunks," he told the mooks, who bowed their heads and lumbered out of the room. As Tamatanga scrubbed the creases under his knuckles, he grumbled. "Is this going to be your shtick from now on? Dirt and trash and oil?"

"I just make what I know, and all I've known until last week was dirt, trash, and oil. Nothin' impressive." She finally looked up at him as she rolled up the oily rag. "Why did you choose mine?"

He stroked his red-brown beard as he answered, "'Cuz I liked it and I didn't like the others. That and, well, who makes anything about Drudgetown? No one."

"That's cuz no one wants to live there."

"Of course not, you'd be crazy if you did," he laughed. "Still, I don't like how gobs ignore it either."

"Did you ever live there?"

There was a sharp glint in his eye. "Oh yeah, I did. Every day I grew up there I wanted out. You grow up there too?"

"I grew up in the mines until the master I served under went broke. He collapsed a tunnel on us to let us know," she said with a smile. "Myself and the other survivors moved into Drudgetown after that."

"Glad to see you didn't get hurt."

He shifted his weight towards her, his hands jingling the many gold coins that fattened his pockets.

She held her arms akimbo and laughed in his face. "So, are we going to keep moaning about the past or are we going to something more productive?"

"You decide," he crooned.

And with that, she pulled him to her and refused to let him go for several hours.

TTT

Tamatanga soaked in her tub later that night, the trade prince having left an hour ago and the baby playing with his feet on the bathroom rug. Her body relaxed more than it had in over a month. After Fezzrik's birth, she just didn't have the time or energy to have much fun until last week, when she could finally feed herself decently. Her fingers wove through the water and let it drip drip drip back in the tub. She thought of Gabble, and that night she made the painting. Would he have made her choice for her like the gob at Bisou's party?

She shook her head. From what Bisou had said, she had pretty much blacked out as soon as she hit the bed. She had no choice to make; it was just some impatient gob that needed a release. Didn't make it right, and it sure as hell wasn't all her fault, but there was no use in moaning about the past. Just shoulder up and move on.

Tamatanga took the little white pill off of the toilet seat and swallowed it dry.

TTT

"Momma's got a birthday surprise for you!" Tamatanga cooed over her now four-year-old son.

"A gajillion macaroons?" squeaked the goblin, beaming up at his mother. He stretched out his wiry arms and opened his hands wide; his toes curled up on the artificial bear rug.

Tamatanga untied her Kaja'cola bottle cap necklace and put it in her son's hands.

"I'm giving you the first bottle cap I ever collected. It was that bottle cap that gave me the idea to—"

"I WANTED A GAJILLION MACAROONS!"

"How many times do I gotta tell you that you aren't. Getting. A Gajillion. Macaroons."

"But-but-but," he said, coin-sized tears welling up in his little eyes.

Tamatanga tied the necklace around her son's neck as he bawled about never getting anything he ever wanted, though he stood in a sea of toys, clothes, and firecrackers . She barely heard the doorbell ring over her son's wails, and left him to calm himself down as she went to open the door.

Standing on the doorstep with a blonde goutee and his hand wrapped in brown bandages was Nib.

"Hey," he said as friendly as he could.

"What do you want?" she shouted over Fezzrik. He stopped crying at once and she could see him watching in the corner of her eye.

"I just wanted to stop over and see a good friend of mine."

"You came to the wrong house then."

He flashed a shit-eating grin and said, "Now, there's no need to get sharp—"

She rolled her eyes and started to close the door, but he stopped it with his good arm and said, "Ok, no bs. Look, I need a little help." His face soured at the word, but he continued, "My hand got broken real bad and so I got dropped. I've been livin' at Drudgetown for the last week because I spent all I had to make sure I could use my hand again. Seeing as you've got this big house and all, I was hoping I can crash here until my hand's better and I can work again."

"What did Jaz and Flash say when you told them your sob story?"

His arm fell to his side and his face told her everything she needed to know.

"Thought so," she said before slamming the door in his face.

She locked the door and watched him stand at her doorstep and stare at her door with wide-eyed bafflement. How it could surprise him that she'd refuse help after he slammed the door in her face and avoided her as much as possible for the last four years, she had no earthly clue.

As she watched him slink away, Fezzrik whispered, "Who was that, Momma?"

"No one important," she said as she went into the kitchen. "How 'bout some cake and ice cream?"

He hopped with joy all the way to the tiny blue metal table and waited for the pineapple upside-down cake and mango ice cream she bought from down the street. She cut him a thick slab of cake and watch him dig in, frosting flying on his nose and ears, as she nibbled at her own slice.

"I have another present for you too," she said.

"Really! What is it?" he said as he licked yellow icing off his teeth.

"Starting tomorrow, you're getting a tutor."

His ears perked up at the word that sounded nothing close to macaroons or candy, and he said a little cautiously, "What is a tutor?"

"It's someone who comes and teaches you how to be smart. You want to be smart, don't ya?"

He furrowed his brown eyebrows.

"Ye-e-e-s."

"Well, then that's what the tutor's for. He'll make you smart and so when you're grown up you'll be smart enough to run a monopoly and maybe get to be Trade Prince one day."

Fezzrik's ears drooped at this. "I don't wanna be a Trade Prince."

"Why not?" she laughed.

His ears fell so low that they touched his shoulders. "I dunno…"

"Do you know what Trade Prince's have that no one else has?"

"No, what?"

"A gajillion macaroons."

His ears perked right back up and she knew she had him. She honestly had no idea how much a Trade Prince made, and she didn't bother asking Gallywix whenever he felt like paying her a visit. She looked over at her Boom-Boom Boys calendar and counted the growing weeks since his last visit. Honestly she didn't think he'd have the attention span to see her for as long as he did, but he surprised her until now. Tamatanga turned away from the calendar to clean up after dessert.

After a hot shower and a change into cotton pajamas, Tamatanga and Fezzrik laid down together on the round bed with purple pineapple sheets. Tamatanga was just about to drop off when Fezzrik sat up in his bed and said, "Momma?"

"What?" she grumbled.

"Momma, why…um, why can't I have a poppa?"

She gaped at him as he rambled on.

"The other kids—like next door—the other kids, they have poppas and mommas. Maybe for my birthday next year, I could have a poppa?"

Her ice cream curdled in her stomach.

"You don't have a poppa because your poppa didn't want me or you. Why do you want a poppa anyway? Who feeds you? Who put the clothes on your back? Who gave you this house to live in?"

"M-Momma," he snifled.

"That's right. So I don't want to hear you complaining about wanting a poppa who didn't want you in the first place."

Fezzrik cried so hard he started to choke on his snot. She took him in her arms and cradled him until all he did was rub his wet eyes with his fists.

"I'm sorry for yelling, Fezzrik," she cooed, "I'm sorry for that, but what I said was the truth. When I was your age, I was working in the mines with about twenty other kids, and no one told me about mommas and poppas until I was grown-up, and I couldn't cry like you can, because I am an adult, not a kid. Feel better now?"

He shook his head and wrapped his arms around her neck; the sharp edges of the bottle cap scratched her as it pressed against her breastbone. She held him tight, his thin brown hair tickling her nose.

"I'll always want you," she murmured in his hair. "Even when I get mad at you, I'll still want you. I'll never stop wanting you. Don't ever think otherwise, 'k?"

He nodded and said, "I love you, Momma."

She flinched at the phrase. Who taught him that? Where did he hear it from? She had never, never said those words to another goblin before, especially nowadays. Her arms tightened around him and she whispered so low in his ear that even the walls couldn't hear her, "I love you too, Fezz."

TTT

After his hours-long tutoring session in reading, writing, arithmetic, and profit, Fezzrik came up to his Momma and yawned, "I made you something, Momma!"

She put down her cola and said, "And what would that be?"

"Close your eyes and lower your head."

She did and felt his sticky fingers pull something soft around her neck and tie it as best he could.

"Okay, open your eyes!"

She did and saw a shiny cola tab hanging on her best white shoestring waving back and forth in the air. She held the tab in her palm and made a mental note to lock up her shoes.

"Wellll," Fezzrik said as he stood on his tippy-toes.

"I like it a lot, thank you," she said and laughed. "You said you made it yourself?"

"Oh yeah—" he and began his tale of how he stole the shoelace and the soda tab and figured out how to make the necklace all by himself.

As she watched him recount his grand master plan, she wondered if this sudden burst of generosity was healthy in a growing goblin, even though it was directed towards his mother. It was a dog-eat-dog world out there, and too many acts of charity could get you broke and living in your mother's basement. She'd have a word with the tutor and see if she could start teaching him about investments earlier than most other students.

She rubbed the tab with her thumb until it felt tingly. Maybe he was acting like this because he had been well-fed and well-clothed almost all of his short life, and once he got older and a little greedier he'd grow out of this. She had no clue, and had no one she wanted to ask about either. For now, she'd wait and do what she thought was best for him, and hope he'd end up rich enough to keep her well-fed and well-clothed when she was too old to work and protect her moolah. Otherwise, she was taking them both down the path to hell and there would be no turning back for her when they got there.


	15. Tamatanga, Part 3

_Ten Years Later_

The Kajaro Field was bursting with screaming fans for both the Bilgewater Buccaneers and the Steamwheedle Sharks as the game was quickly coming to a close. Fezzrik jeered at the Sharks while Tamatanga watched the game through her Bilgewater Buccaneers Binoculars™. It was pretty heartbreaking to see the home team have their metal asses handed to them.

As the second-to-last Buccaneer shredder was destroyed the Shark fans sitting in the bleachers opposite of Tamatanga stood up with and waved brooms in the air, shouting, "Sweeeeeep! SWEEEEEEP!" before being pelted with cola cans and pocket rockets.

"Game's over," Fezzrik said as he plopped down on the bleacher and put his chin in his hand.

"Eh, better luck next year," Tamatanga said.

Fezzrik grunted and lowered his silver-spangled sunglasses over his eyes. Suddenly there was a roar as a decked-out hot rod crashed onto the field, pausing the game.

"What the hell?" Fezzrik muttered and stood up again.

Looking through her binoculars, Tamatanga could see a hobgoblin and three goblins with random metal parts hop on out. They huddled by Coach Crosscheck and gave him the parts. The hobgoblin, the guy with spiked yellow hair and the girl with red hair piled back into the hot rod and back out of the way as the third goblin followed the coach and disappeared behind a mountain of rubble. The game was on hold for at least fifteen minutes while Coach Crosscheck took his mysterious parts behind the last shredder and started hammering and tinkering like a madman. At last he patted the shredder and called out in his scratchy voice, "Get into that shredder and win the game. The Bilgewater Cartel's counting on you!"

Within moments the last shredder roared to life. The game started again with eight Sharks against one Buccaneer. Fezzrik pulled on his ears and Tamatanga leaned over so far in her seat that she could have kissed the balding head in front of her. The Buccaneer threw a footbomb at the first shredder and it went up in flames, its driver running away from it. Tamatanga and Fezzrik cheered as Shark after Shark fell from the Buccaneer's deadly throw. When the last Shark went down the crowd danced and tumbled out of the bleachers.

"Wait, wait, we haven't won yet—" Tamatanga shouted over the cheers.

All eyes were on the shredder who took careful aim and kicked the footbomb clear over the goal and into Mt. Kajaro. The field exploded with cheers, even from the opposing side, until a massive black dragon flew over the mountain and looked down upon them all with his gargantuan flaming eyes.

" _The sun has set on this mortal world, fools,_ " the dragon bellowed, his chest glowing like forge fire with every breath. " _Make peace with your end, for the hour of twilight falls!"_

His great skeletal jaw opened and a gush of fire poured into Mt. Kajaro. He snapped his jaw shut and flew over the field, wind pounding down on them all and leaving a stench of burning flesh behind. Tamatanga looked at Fezzrik, his brown eyes almost as big as his shaved head.

"You okay, Ma?" he said.

She squeezed her fingers around the soda tab necklace, her chest heaving under her hand.

"It-It stinks," she muttered. "Do you smell it too?"

"Yeah," he said and covered his short pierced nose with his hand. "I didn't think dragons stunk so bad."

The bleachers lurched underneath them and they both stumbled, catching each other by the arm. Tamatanga looked up at the mountain, which was now spewing black ash and smoke.

She turned back to Fezzrik and said, "We gotta go."

He nodded and they both hurried down the bleachers to the torn up field. Jaz ran up to them, his leathered-clad body stained with sweat and grease.

"Did ya see that dragon?" he shouted and pointed at the trembling mountain.

"That mountain looks like its gonna blow its load. Go home, pack up, and get to the docks."

"What about Flash?"

She bit her bottom lip. Flash had been laid up for the last two weeks from witch's fingers—tumors in the lungs. Tamtanga turned to her son and said, "Pack up dried and canned foods, clothing that can take some punishment, and whatever moolah we got laying around into a couple of backpacks. Meet me at the bank afterwards and," she added under her breath, "take out everything."

Fezzrik said, "But—"

"Get goin'!" Tamatanaga said and stamped her foot.

"All right, all right!"

She watched him run out of the field and to their red motorcycle with a yellow sidecar. After he drove away, she told Jaz, "Let's get goin'."

Tamatanga sat behind Jaz as they rode on his bike to Flash's house, now considerably emptier than it had been in recent years. Jaz knocked on the metal door and it fell off its hinges. They caught a flash of red pants and mottled fur as a pirate ran out the back door with his loot. Inside, the blue elephant wallpaper was in shreds and outlines of his velvet furniture were left imprinted on the walls. Jaz took out his brass knuckles out of his pockets and Tamantaga unsheathed a knife she hid under her white tank top. Flash's coughs echoed from above as they climbed up the black skeletal staircase. Tamatanga went ahead to check on Flash as Jaz peeked into the other rooms to see if there were any pirates left.

Flash lay wheezing upon his bare mattress. Harsh sunlight washed over his wasted body. His ribs looked ready to pierce through his dark green skin. Shadows bloomed in his eye sockets and under his high cheekbones. Fingers as thin as needles reached for a half-empty water glass on the floor. Tamatanga picked up the glass and knelt by his side. As she slowly tipped the glass to his lips, he took a few sips before coughing it back on her arm.

"S-Sor—" he sputtered as she wiped her arm on her tank. He swallowed and started again. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," she said. "Where're the others?"

"High-tailed it as soon as that dragon showed up." He gestured to the square window on the eastern wall that had a wonderful view of hot ash raining down from the volcano and onto the metal rooftops.

Jaz came into the room still wearing his bronze knuckles. He down at Flash and grinned. "New diet?"

Flash chuckled like a sick toad, "Yeah, I'm ready for the catwalk now."

Jaz let go of the doorknob and stepped forward. "Fantastic. Let's get you packed up and ready to go then."

"I ain't goin' anywhere," he said, dropping his sarcastic tone.

Tamatanga said, "You're goin' to hell in a hand basket if we don't get you outta here."

"I know," he said, pausing to let Tamatanga give him a few more sips of water. "I rather die that way than waste away to nothin'."

"Well, maybe on the new island we can find a cure—" Jaz muttered.

"There ain't a cure for the witch's fingers, Jaz! I'm a dead man walkin'—or, layin', really. If you want to be of any use, then give me a full cup of water and leave it where I can reach it."

Tamatanga got up and left the room without another word to refill the water glass from the bathroom sink. The white-washed bathroom was next to Flash's room and the walls were paper-thin, so she could hear the men's muffled conversation.

"We can't abandon you here," Jaz said.

"You got soot in your ears? I told ya, I'm goin' to die here."

Tamatanga filled the glass as much as she could without spilling. Her ears perked up to catch Jaz's faint words, "I don't want you to die."

Flash shrieked, "You think I wanna die? You think I asked to get so sick that I can't even get out of my own bed and piss in the corner? Of course I don't wanna die. I ain't got a choice in the matter this time." He went into another coughing fit before finishing his tirade. "R-Remember when that t-tunnel collapsed? I woke up under a pile of dead gobs, and I had a choice to die with them or crawl out. There ain't any crawlin' out from this."

Tamatanga entered the room with the water, trying to keep her face blank. Jaz's ears were still pinned low and he looked like he was counting the planks of wood on the floor. After Flash thanked Tamatanga for the water, he gripped her hand and said, "Y'know, I'm glad you didn't take my advice about the kid. He's a good egg."

Her eyes stung as she gently hugged him for the last time. She stepped back so Jaz could clasp his hand.

"Go, go," Flash murmured. Jaz nodded and patted him on the shoulder before leaving the room, refusing to look back. Tamatanga went to the threshold and faced him.

"Open or closed?" she said.

"Closed," he croaked, his head turned to look out the window.

She looked at him once more, his body shrinking under the growing shadows, and closed the door.

TTT

"Get down in the hull you worthless SLAAAAVES!"

Tamatanga went down the steps with a crush of enslaved goblins into the hull, her fingers tight around Fezzrik's bare wrist. Of course, the one ship that happened to be leaving Kezan was Gallywix's, who charged each goblin their life savings for a ticket on his yacht. Once they were all on the boat, he revealed that since he had all their dough and their lives in his hands, they were now his slaves.

They were locked into a square cabin with so many goblins that no one could sit without sitting on someone's foot. Sunlight filtering in from the porthole on the wall and the grate from the ceiling was the only light in the cabin. Tamatanga looked through the window and saw the lava flow down to where Flash would be, lying alone but for a cup of water for company. Someone pushed her out of the way and she fell on three pairs of feet. Fezzrik went up to the goblin that shoved her and pushed him away from the window.

"Heh, a tough guy," the larger goblin with biceps the size of grapefruits said before he took a swing at Fezzrik. Fezzrik ducked out of the way and his opponent punched Jaz on the side of the face instead. Jaz spat out a tooth and lunged at the large goblin. The goblins jeered or threw punches until a mook from the upper deck stomped his wide, grubby feet on the grate.

"Shuddup," growled the mook, "or I make you shuddup."

No one answered, which satisfied the mook. Tamatanga sighed and leaned against a wall, hugging herself. Fezzrik pushed his way to her, a black eye forming and his pink silk shirt torn with the top button missing. She rolled her eyes at him.

Weeks passed without much more excitement after that. Tamatanga took to standing under the grate to listen in on Gallywix's crew. Apparently they were on their way to Azhara to deliver the slaves, though how they got there was often disputed. Every now and again she'd hear Gallywix shout at his mooks, his crew, or at the slaves below. She doubted he could see her amongst the sea of green faces with candy-colored hair, though she was one of the very few with a couple of streaks of natural silver in her hair.

Fezzrik could not stay in one spot. He was constantly visiting other goblins, even the goblin that shoved Tamatanga. One day she caught him talking to Nib.

"I don't like you talking to him," she told Fezzrik when he came up to her that night.

"Ma, I know he did you wrong," he said, scratching his head that had sprouts of green hair (his hair changed color every time he shaved it), "but we're all on the same boat now, no pun intended. Kezan is gone, and we'd be better off startin' with a clean slate instead of holding grudges."

She shook her head at him. She never told Fezzrik about how she got pregnant, but she did tell him about how Nib treated her after he was born.

"Fine, go be friends with him. You're old enough to make your own friends, even when you know they can't be trusted."

"Ma—" he groaned.

"Don't 'Ma' me. Go on, make a bad decision and then cry about it to me later. I don't have anything else to do but stand here, anyway."

"Do you tell Jaz how to pick his friends too?"

Tamatanga cackled. "See, that's different. What kind of friends Jaz makes is up to him, because he's just a friend, and friends come and go. You're my kid, and I'm stuck with you."

Jaz, who stood next to her, laughed as well. Fezzrik's face grew darker and he opened his mouth to say something, but Tamatanga shushed him before he could.

"This is all your fault!" a crewmember from the top deck shouted, "We were supposed to have these stupid slaves to Kalimdor days ago!"

A quick-speaking crewmember shouted back, "I'm not takin' the fall for this one, you're the one who got us lost!"

Fog pressed against the grate and a cool mist fell on Tamatanga's face. The other muttering slaves fell silent at the word 'lost.' Their rations of bread and water were already growing smaller and smaller by the day.

Tamatanga could just catch the sound of boot against cloth as the first goblin said, "What does it matter? Gallywix is gonna have both our heads!"

"Shh, did you hear that?"

Tamatanga stretched her ears up as far as they could and heard an echo of gunfire. Gunfire. In the middle of the ocean. Her ears drooped as she realized what that meant.

"AAAAAAAHHHH!" the crewmembers cried together.

Nearly every goblin in the cabin fell over on each other as the ship suddenly swerved to the right. A cannonball ripped through the porthole and demolished the locked door on the other side. Tamatanga pulled Fezzrik from under the big-biceped goblin who was standing in the cannonball's line of fire and fell again when a massive explosion erupted above deck.

"You all right?" Jaz yelled over the panicking crowd as he helped Tamatanga up. She nodded once before yanking Fezzrik out of the room and to the upper deck where the escape pods were. Fire from the burning engine room licked at Tamatanga's heels as she made a mad dash for one of the wooden pods that littered and rolled around the upper deck. In the corner of her eye she saw Nib waving around a steel wrench he must have hidden in his clothes before coming on board, and ducked just before it could hit her in the temple.

She raced a crowd of goblins to a pile of escape pods kept together under a rope net. She took out her knife and cut a few of the ropes to allow Fezzrik to take out a pod.

"Get in—" she said but Fezzrik pushed her into the pod and slammed the door.

"No! No, no, no, NO!" she shrieked, pounding her fists against the tiny porthole as the pod blasted out of the fog and into the clear blue sky.


	16. Tamatanga, Part 4

After a half an hour of opening pods in hope of finding Fezzrik, Tamatanga finally spotted him clinging on a deck plank that was slowly making its way towards shore. She swam towards him, partly keeping an eye on the large brown sharks that circled the wreckage. He passed out and let go of the plank. She caught him just as his head submerged under the water and slung him across the plank. The back of his scorched scalp was bleeding, he struggled to breathe, and his pink shirt was gone, but he was alive.

A shark came up to take a bite at their toes, but Tamatanga kicked it so hard on the nose that it fled without one nip. Holding herself and Fezzrik to the plank, Tamatanga kicked towards the shore of the lush island before her. The front of the ship was moored on the sand and surviving goblins surrounded it, already starting campfires and licking their wounds.

A red-haired goblin woman with cracked specks ran up to Tamatanga and helped her drag Fezzrik up the beach.

"Yo, we need a doctor over here!" she hollered at the growing crowd. She turned to Tamatanga as an exhausted older woman came running. "You missing any limbs? Bleeding where you shouldn't?"

"No," Tamatanga panted and fell on her bum. "I just need to catch my breath."

The red-hair woman picked her up and all three women carried Fezzrik and laid him out on a ragged towel. As the doctor cleaned Fezzrik's wounds, the red-haired woman took Tamatanga by the arm and led her to another clump of campfires with monkeys and fish roasting over them.

"The name's Mida Silvertongue, by the way."

"Tama—Tamatanga, and that's my kid, Fezzrik."

"Well, while Fezzrik's getting patched up, how about you take a breather, a bite to eat, then you can let more gobs out of their pods. I've got other matters to attend to, but I'll see you later."

Tamatanga nodded and sat right by the fire, pressing a hand down in the sand to save a spot for Fezzrik. She looked around and could see that several hundred goblins had actually managed to survive the wreck. She even caught a glimpse of Bisou, who she hadn't spoken to in over a decade. Her hair was a deep red and bags of skin hung under her eyes. Jaz and Nib were nowhere to be seen, though, at least from Tamatanga's spot. Gallywix's voice rang from above, "No worries, everyone. This is just a short pit stop on our way to our new home."

Tamatanga glared up at him, but the other gobs around her just ignored him. Gallywix was surveying the island on top of what was left of the top deck of his yacht. The boards whined under his weight. He had grown fat over the years; fat with money, fat with power, fat with food. To be able to achieve all three virtues made you a great and noticeable goblin indeed. Fezzrik was as fat as a piece of paper.

She shook her head. What was she going to say when Fezzrik woke up? She was pissed at him, and she couldn't nail down why. Fourteen years of work nearly went down the drain. Why did he not listen to her? Why did he just put her in the pod without a word? Her fingers squeezed the soda tab necklace as she stewed for a while.

Someone nudged a bit of skewered meat to her. She turned and saw Fezzrik, a fairly clean cloth wrapped around his head. She took it out of his hands and started chewing on the stringy meat that smelled a little like gunpowder. He sat down next to her and they ate in silence. Someone had given him a ratty brown vest, but even that couldn't hide the skin drawn tight over his lean muscles. Once he's finished growing he would fill out, she told herself, if he lived long enough to have a chance to fill out.

When she had finished eating, she smacked his ear with a greasy hand.

"What the hell was that for?" Fezzrik whined.

"You know why. I'm surprised you even got out alive without a pod."

Rubbing his hurt ear he grumbled, "There was another explosion and I went flying, and then I had to start swimming for shore. I know how to take care of myself, Ma, but I guess I won't bother helping you next time."

"Good, you need some sense of self preservation."

He threw down his skewer and stalked off to a different group of goblins. She tossed away her own skewer and walked toward the shoreline. Where teams of goblins were forming to swim out, bring in, and determine if the survivor needed medical attention.

"Need a swimmer?" she asked a puffing goblin who was soaked through. He nodded once before collapsing on the sand.

"He'll be fine," said a woman wearing a yellow rag for a headband. "Go out to your right, way out, and catch the pods that are being pulled out to sea. You can take his flippers too."

After yanking the blue flippers off of the unconscious goblin, she swam out and rescued goblins for the next hour. When she finally returned to shore, the sun was already setting on the hundreds of Kezan goblins who had survived the journey. Other gobs were busy bringing up more wood for the fires and planning out an itinerary for tomorrow. The roar of a purple raptor storming out of the jungle caught Tamatanga's attention for a moment, until it was shot down.

Tamatanga hadn't seen Jaz at all since after the crash. She scanned over the many green heads as she walked around the campsites, but nothing. Her eyes met Fezzrik's for a moment—he was talking to some girl about his age—and continued to walk away from the campsites. Up ahead of her at the shoreline was Nib, watching the waves by himself.

She trudged up to him and called out, "You nearly hit me with that wrench of yours."

He shot a look at her with his beady red eyes then laughed. "Ah, sorry about that. Everyone was in my way and I had to get through."

Tamatanga kept her distance, as he was still holding the bloodied wrench in his right hand. He leaned back and threw it as hard as he could. The wrench glittered in the dying light before plunking into the ocean.

"What the hell was that for?" Tamatanga cried.

"It's a present for Jaz," he said as he dug a hole in the sand with his shoe.

Tamatanga shaded her eyes so she could see the ocean better. There were still bits of flotsam in the dark blue water, with a shimmering blanket of light covering the sea like a shroud.

"I guess it's just me and you and Bisou then," Tamatanga said quietly.

"What happened to Flash?"

"He wanted to stay on Kezan."

"Anyone stay with him?"

"No."

Tamatanga lowered her hands and covered her face, pressing her palms against her cheeks. She wasn't going to cry. She didn't want to cry. She couldn't cry. She pressed her hands against her dry face hard before letting them drop at her sides.

"I'm glad to see that Fezzrik got out okay," Nib said and turned his head to look at the goblin circles. "Looks like he's found himself an admirer."

Tamatanga turned and saw him still talking with the skinny girl with tangled purple hair and pierced purple eyebrows. Now and then she scooted himself closer to him as he told his story.

"He'll probably be a poppa at fifteen too," Tamatanga said and chuckled to herself.

Nib shifted on the balls of his feet.

"Look, Tamatanga. After all that's happened, I think we should start with a clean slate."

"You've been hanging around my son too much," she said with a grin.

"Maybe, but it's been something I've been thinking about for a while, and it wasn't until all this happened that I know we've got to start now. We don't have to be friends, but we don't have to be enemies either."

"I guess not," she said. She turned towards him and looked him in the eye. "I don't know, Nib. I don't know if I can start all over, like these years never happened."

"Don't think of it as starting over then, but starting after I say 'I'm sorry.'"

"Are you?"

"I'm sorry."

His voice was softer when he said that, and that surprised her. Tamantanga put her hands in the pockets of her faded pants.

"All right," she said, "let's start from there."

They only talked a little more as they walked back to camp. Tamatanga looked down at the sand, thinking. He could have been sorry for a whole lot of things, and that could have included that night fourteen years ago. She shook her head at that memory. She had to stop being so hung up on that. She had to stop wondering, every now and again, who betrayed her trust so many years ago. It was hard, though, to stop wondering when she looked at the product of that fiasco practically every day.

The girl Fezzrik was talking to shot up as soon as Tamatanga and Nib came to site. Tamatanga waved at the girl and laughed, "Sit down, sit down! I ain't gonna bite your head off."

Nervously, the girl sat back down on the sand next to Fezzrik, who was looking just as surprised. Tamatanga sat next to the girl and Nib next to her. She leaned over and said, "So Fezz, you gonna introduce us or what?"

Sitting up a little straighter, Fezzrik said, "Ma, this is Juju Slinger. Juju, this is my mother Tamatanga."

"Slinger? You related to Flash Goldensling?"

"Yes, he's—well, he was my great-grandpa."

Fezzrik cut in, "Yeah, we knew Flash pretty well. And Jaz too. Were you guys able to find…?"

Nib shook his head, "Nah, he's done Fezz."

Fezzrik's ears sagged and he scooped up some sand, letting it slowly flow out between his fingers.

"Oh," he said, staring down at his toes.

"That sucks," Juju said and patted Fezzrik on the shoulder.

They were silent for a few moments—then polka music blared out from the group of goblins next to them. Juju jumped up and yanked at Fezzrik's wrist.

"C'mon, Fezz, dancing'll get you out of that funk," she said.

He pulled his hand away and slung it over his knee without a word. She sniffed and skipped over to the growing number of dancing goblins.

"Fezz," Tamatanga sighed, but she didn't know what to say at first. The three sat in silence until all the goblins from their group had gotten up to dance. Finally, she stood up and said, "At least you're alive. That's a good reason to dance, ain't it?"

Nib nodded and got up as well.

"C'mon, kid," Nib said, "only a few more hours before we gotta go back to work."

"You guys go ahead," he mumbled. "I don't feel like dancin'."

Tamatanga wanted to yank him by the arm and get him to dance, but could feel in her bones that it'd only make him feel worse. For the first time she saw her son as the depressed, thin man she'd raised him to be and she didn't want to be around him anymore.

"All right then," she managed to say before breaking away from both men and diving deep into the dancing crowd. She found herself twirling and dancing with so many strangers to the accordion's song. At last she was free, free, free to forget who she was, who she lost, who she was connected with.

The goblins dance until it was nearly dawn, and they collapsed from exhaustion when the sun peeked up to bring in another day.

TTT

I'll always want you. Even when I get mad at you, I'll still want you. I'll never stop wanting you. Don't ever think otherwise, 'k?

Tamtanga awoke with a start when a cold ocean wave washed over her legs. She pushed her self up, sand sticking to her skin and tank. Her brown eyes watering, she lowered herself back down and wrapped her arms around her head. She squeezed her eyes shut. Her chin touched the warm metal of the cola tab. She couldn't cry, she wouldn't cry, no matter how guilty she felt. When the urge to cry passed, she pushed herself up again and went looking for her son among the throngs of passed out goblins.

She found Nib under a pile of four goblins, and the Juju girl was cradling the accordion like a teddy bear. However, she couldn't find her son on the beach. Her heart thumping in her chest, Tamatanga ran to the yacht remains where Mida Silvertongue towered over a small group of goblins.

"Ah, glad to see your awake," Mida said as she scribbled something on her salvaged clipboard. "We need you to help wake up the goblins before—"

"A-All right," Tamatanga panted, her arms akimbo. "You haven't seen my son, have you?"

"Who?"

"Fezzrik."

Mida looked down at her clipboard and adjusted her steel-rimmed spectacles, "Oh, right! One of the first to wake up, actually. He's on an away team to go meet some orcs on the top of the island."

Tamatanga stood slack-jawed.

"He what?" she spat out.

Mida pointed up at the verdant hills of the island. "Away team. On the top of the island. To meet orcs."

Tamatanga twisted to look up at the hills. Squinting, she could just make out a steady stream of smoke from a campfire at the top of the hills. A raptor's roar echoed in the warm air, sending flocks of yellow and pink birds to the skies, but was quickly silenced by whatever else crept in the jungles of the island.

AN: Sorry for the wait! Got snagged up with RL stuff and had a lot of internal debates about whether or not to make this into a super long chapter or to cut it into two. As you can see, I found it best to cut it into two! The next chapter will probably be very tricky for me, because I could very easily go into the filler territory or rush into the climax that will happen a couple of parts away from now.

Thank you all again for reading and reviewing! It means a lot to me and I will try harder to get this out a bit faster. I bought a planner to help better plan my time out, I just need to stick to it! Thank you all again!


	17. Tamatanga, Part 5

While many of the surviving goblins had been celebrating the success of keeping their expendable lives, a few profitable-minded goblins started mining kaja'mite using mining monkeys who were previously exposed to the mind-expanding ore. A rampaging monkey uprising started around midnight, only to be resolved a few of hours later when a mysterious goblin accompanied the last goblin miner brave enough to enter the cavern. Not only were all the monkeys slain, the mysterious goblin also recovered an orc corpse and his journal, and gave it to Mida before disappearing in the morning twilight.

"It turned out that the orc was an orc scout for a Horde ship with some precious cargo that the Alliance was after," Mida said as she scribbled something on her clipboard. "So we sent Fezzrik and a couple others to go find the orcs and see if we can't work something out to get us off this island."

Tamatanga shook her head. "You know he's only fourteen, right?"

Mida shrugged. "I guessed as much, but I needed someone who was awake and could speak both Goblin and Orcish. It should work out all right." She jerked a thumb at one of the surviving food crates full of bananas. "You busy at the moment? We could use all the hands we can get to get breakfast rollin'."

"Yeah, sure."

Breakfast was roasted bananas with roasted monkey meat. As Tamatanaga slowly turned the large spit over a blazing fire, she let herself have one last sigh. It was strange to think that when she was just a year older than Fezzrik when she had him, and she managed to live without parents all her life. At the mines there were the wet nurses, but they only came to nurse her until she was about two. After that it was the Big Bowl, filled twice a day with slop by one of the teenaged slaves. The slave masters were almost like parents, only they parented you to be a better slave and a better miner. They were all killed when the mine collapsed. After that, nine-year-old Tamatanga scrounged for food and pickpocketed and found odd jobs her tiny frame could handle. She lived by herself in Drudgetown until Fezzrik was born.

Wind tugged at her grease-stained tank. She looked up at the light blue sky. Clouds bloomed white before the wind pushed them together over the island. Shit, it would rain right over the flames. Tamatanga turned the spit faster, her eyes flicking up at the coming storm and down at the food. Her hands stopped when she saw the cyclone forming in the clouds that reached down to the water on the opposite side of the island.

"What the—"

"Food's burning," Mida said as she passed Tamatanga staring up at the clouds.

A man from the crowd shouted, "Look at that!"

"Great, a tornado! Just what we need," moaned another.

As quickly as it started, the cyclone blew out.

Tamatanga heard Nib yawn, "One of those Wednesdays, I guess."

Mida barked, "Tamatanga!"

Tamatanga snapped out of her stupor and turned the spit again. Within the hour the large group of goblins had woken up and eaten what was available, Foreman Dampwick announced that he had invented a fool-proof method to get them off this first island to their new home, Town-In-A-Box.

They walked single file up the hills of the island to a steep cliff that overlooked a strait. Built just at the edge of the cliff was a giant slingshot made with a couple of naked palm trees and tarp with a pile of red rockets next to it.

Tamatanga looked up at Mida. They grinned at each and had to look away to not start laughing.

"Hopefully my kid'll be able to find it," Tamatanga said as they waited their turn.

"You talk about your kid a lot," she said and pressed her glasses higher up on the bridge of her nose. "He holdin' the family jewels or somethin'?"

"Nah, nah. It's a long story."

Only a couple of goblins were ahead of them now. Tamatanga looked back to see if there was any sign of Fezzrik.

"You got any kids?" she asked.

Mida laughed, "Oh hell no. They're too expensive."

Tamatanga didn't have much to say about that, as it was her turn to sit on the lit rocket that rested in the sling. Mida and a couple of other goblins were piled behind her. Tamatanga resisted the urge to wrap her hands around the several coils of rope to stay on the rocket. If this thing decided to explode midflight—

"FIRE!" an engineer called out as he pulled the lever that released the smoking rocket.

The force of gravity hit Tamatanga so hard that she nearly let go of the ropes. The rocket flew up and up and up until its flame gave out. Its path curved back down toward land on the other side of the strait.

"LET GO, LET GO!" Mida shouted.

They all jumped off the rocket just before it crashed into the sand and blew up. Tamatanga's heels kicked her back as she hit face-first the ground. The impact knocked the wind right out of her. She rolled on her back, forehead stinging, and tried to get another breath in.

"Ma, MA!"

Fezzrik skidded to her side, spraying sand on her chest. She pushed herself up and got a breath in.

"You OK?" he asked as he helped her up, but she brushed him away as soon as she was on her feet.

"Y-Yeah, of course," she wheezed. "Rough landing is all. Have fun with the orcs?"

He touched his new bandage that stuck to his scalp and grinned. "Yeah, actually. Made a couple of friends. I'll tell you about it on the way to town."

Mida came in stride with them. "I'd like to hear your account of the orcs too."

"Eh, sure," he said and held his arms akimbo. "All right, so I guess it starts this morning when we first started up the mountain—"

TTT

"—and when I got into the gyrochoppa I flew to the Alliance ships, dodging flames and bullets, before me, Graug, and the mystery goblin jumped onto the deck—"

"Uh huh," Tamatanga said. Sitting on a small stool as she listened to his rambling story, she rubbed her sore back with her knuckles. Mida left the tiny metal apartment ages ago to get a more succinct version from the mystery goblin, who happened to also be the Trade Prince's great rival and the goblin who kicked the winning goal into Mt. Kajaro. The air of mystery only enhanced the strange goblin's reputation. The others who were crammed into the house left to go find food.

Fezzrik stood in front of his stool as he reenacted the greatest adventure he ever had. "We mowed down the Alliance soldiers who tried to shoot us down before going below deck. There we found the precious cargo, which turned out to be Warchief Thrall! While Graug and I fought the captain, the other gob released the warchief from his arcane prison—"

"Right."

"—then he said a weird spell and the mystery goblin became a cyclone—"

"Wait, became a cyclone?"

"Yeah! The cyclone just wrecked all these boats that most of the Alliance sailors were in. Warchief Thrall was pretty angry at almost being made a slave again."

"I can relate," she said as she opened the window to look down below. The townspeople were thrilled by the gifts of naga hide, raptor eggs, and shark meat the Mystery Goblin had given them before disappearing once again in the shadows.

"We aren't slaves now, are we?"

Tamatanga turned to him. His arms crossed, he looked at her with a serious look in his eyes and a bent brow.

"I mean, I haven't seen the Trade Prince in hours, but I did hear he threatened the Mystery Goblin before disappearing with the food stores."

She shrugged and looked out the window again. "He's just biding his time. You don't live to be that old and fat without—hey, what's that?"

"What's what?"

"Something's moving in the forest. Something small."

"Probably a hunting party."

"No, it's…gnomes?"

An army of tiny white men with bristly beards charged into Town-In-A-Box. A few clubbed the slower goblins with carven sticks and carried them back into the jungle. Tamatanga closed the windows just as the fingers of a fast climber grappled at the ledge. When his potato-like head popped up, Fezzrik kicked open the windows and sent him screaming to his death. Tamatanga slammed the windows shut and locked them again. More men climbed up to the metal ledge and smushed their fists and faces against the glass.

Tamatanga and Fezzrik scrambled for the doorway. Screeching metal filled their ears as a cannonball zoomed over their heads.

"S-Sonuvabitch!" Tamatanga coughed as she pushed herself up by her scraped knees. She looked up at the gaping hole that perforated the pineapple wallpaper.

"Uh, Ma," Fezzrik said. He touched the top of his head and looked as if he swallowed a can of salt. "You've eh, you've got something on your—"

Tamatanga felt her head and picked up a white finger from between her top braids. She dropped it without a thought.

"All right, I'm going down there and see who shot a damn cannonball at my house," she said before heading downstairs.

"Hey, wait for me!" he said and followed her down the squat yellow staircase to the dusty living room, where another cannonball lay on the rug with an invader smashed under it. She tutted and took out a dagger hidden in her pocket.

Several of the strange men toppled into the house through the gaping hole in the wall. Fezzrik chucked a metal stool at the first two to come in before rushing at a third with his bare fists. Tamatanga ran up to help him, but a forth man appeared through the gap and grabbed her arm that held her dagger. She pulled him backwards, twisting her wrist to break his hold, and stabbed him in the side of his neck. More men came and she leapt away from their reaching fingers. Her eyes saw one man behind Fezzrik with clasped hands high above the yellowing bandage on her son's skull. She jumped on the man's back, stabbing his neck. Fezzrik never noticed; he was too busy fighting the flood of screaming men trying to get at him and his mother.

BOOM!

Tamatanga went blind and her ears rang. Her neck had a pulse. She grabbed at her throat. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe.

Her lungs expanded with dirty, dusty air that she coughed back out. Golden stars pressed against her eyes so hard that they almost burst, and a cold tingle ran across her scalp. Her vision cleared at last, but there wasn't much to see. She was buried under rubble and the corpses of the invaders. Her whole body tingled with the thought that she might be dying.

"Ma?" Fezzrik said hoarsly, muffled by the layers of wood and flesh.

Her body lay still except for a finger twitch or a muscle spasm, like the last sparks of crumpled shredder.

"Just wait for me, Ma. Just hang on."

Just leave, she thought, the inside of her throat hot and salty. Just leave, damn it, before they come back for you.

He didn't know she was alive. Hell, they both didn't know if she was going to be able to be of any use after this whole mess. She closed her eyes and rested her head against a cold, rough hand. She didn't want Fezzrik to stay and get killed, but she didn't want to die in here either, like the gobs at the mine collapse.

Of course I don't wanna die. I ain't got a choice in the matter this time, Flash's words echoed in her bruised mind.

"No, no…" she whispered, her head feeling as heavy as a cannonball. Flash's voice twisted into her own.

I woke up under a pile of dead gobs, and I had a choice to die with them or crawl out. There ain't any crawlin' out from this. There is a way to crawl out of this. I just need to rest, I just need to get my strength back. I ain't gonna die. I won't let myself die like the other gobs did. I'll pull myself out by my teeth if I have to. I can't let this kill me—

"I can't," she said, fully awake now with a pick-ax in her hand.

"You have to," Nib said dully as he picked away at the gray rock.

She must be dreaming. She rubbed her eyes with her free arm and looked around. Sure enough, she, Nib, and dozens of other goblins were shackled and picking at the warm brown walls of a green lit cavern. She scratched the back of her head and jumped from a sudden searing pain. She looked at her hand, now dusted with crusty bits of skin and blood. Gingerly her fingertips touched the spot where her lower-left braid used to be.

"What happened?" she said, her temples pounding. "Why are we here?"

He shied away from her. "We're lookin' for kaja'mite."

"NO TALKING," a massive hobgoblin overseer carrying an even more massive spiked hammer roared. "MORE WORKING."

Tamatanga started picking, her hands quickly remembering the work she had done so long ago, and thought she was finally done with. Her gut twisted at the thought of Fezzrik. Did he escape, or was he stuck down here too, doing the work she'd hope he'd never have to do? She knew he was down here; she could feel it in her bones. He never would have left her to die so he could save his own skin. She struck the rock as hard as she could, chunks of it rolling down the wall.

She wouldn't leave him to save herself either.

She remembered that first long walk home with him after he was just born and she gave the doctor every last macaroon she had to pay for a birth she never expected or wanted. She counted fifteen trashcans on the way home. She counted dozens more when she went to work and visited Nib, Jaz, Flash, and Bisou. She watched the waves roll up on the shore, where gobs dumped candy wrappers and condoms. She gazed out at the glittering sea, which was full of floating trash.

"Nib, where's Fezzrik?" she whispered as the overseer passed to intimidated more slaves further down the cavern.

His eyes widened with shock that she'd dare speak again. "Who?"

She felt like someone stabbed her head. "Who do you think? Fezzrik, my kid?"

He shook his head. "Don't know anyone by that name. Quiet, or they'll yell at us again."

He was acting like he did when they were kids and her head ached worse because of it.

"Fine, I'll do it myself," she grumbled.

Keeping an eye on the overseers, she continued to pick but side-step to the left every few moments she could until she stood next to a new goblin who wore a ragged yellow dress and five pairs of earrings.

"Hey," Tamatanga whispered. "Have you seen a teenager around here? Short, hair changes color, just turned fourteen last month. His name's Fezzrik."

The woman stared back with glassy purple eyes for a good minute before shaking her head. Tamatanga sighed and continued slowly down the dim cavern like this for several hours, always keeping an eye out for overseers and sometimes hiding behind the glowing green generators that lit up the place. As she sidled farther down the tunnels, she noticed fewer if any overseers were present, until at last she found herself at a dead-end with neither overseer nor slave in sight.

As she started walking back up to sidle past more hobgoblins, she saw Fezzrik with Nib and seven men and women who kept looking around for an exit.

"MA!" Fezzrik shouted as he ran towards her with a fizzing can in his hand.

"Hey, I was—" she said, but he shoved the can into her hands.

"Drink this."

"What?"

"Drink this. It'll boost your morale so you're not so afraid to want to get out of here."

"I don't need a morale boost," she said and shot a look up at Nib. "I'm ready to get out of here."

Nib turned away from her and called out to the others, "All right, let's move!"

The other gobs looked relieved and followed Nib's lead. Fezzrik hung back with Tamatanga, the clear fizz sticking to his dirty fingers.

"You sure you're OK?" he asked as they puffed up the inclining slope.

"I'm fine," she huffed, her head thumping and her muscles burning. "I was looking for you, actually. How'd we end up here?"

His ears lowered a little. "Well, by the time I dug you out the invaders were long gone, but they had taken a lot of us prisoner and made them into zombies. After we fought them off, Gallywix and his crew picked up the rest of us and took us to the mines. You were awake by the time Gallywix arrived but you'd either mumble or not talk at all. Anyway, he took us down here to find kaja'mite. They separated us, and I was workin' until the Mystery Goblin came and gave me a can of kaja'cola to light a fire under my ass."

She shook her head. "Nah, I don't remember any of it."

"Not even the Mystery Goblin?" he asked and wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Now that I know for sure I didn't see. I just kind of woke up. Maybe I was sleep walking."

"Maybe. Oh well, now we need to focus on getting out of this active volcano."

She fanned herself. "Wait, do you mean we've been mining in a volcano that's about to blow?"

"Yeah."

"And we're just walkin' out of here? RUN, DAMN IT, RUN!"

The entire tunnel shuddered a warning of the hell that was about to come, sending the remaining party screaming up to the exit and into a giant bamboo cage with other re-captured goblins. A hobgoblin slammed the door shut while a second hobgoblin bolted it. Gallywix, sitting comfortable in his mechanical spider, yelled at his hobgoblins, "All right, that's all the time I'm willing to risk on a group a slaves. Get a move on!"

The hostages fell on each other as the hobgoblins picked the cage up and followed Gallywix down the rugged terrain of the volcano that vomited black fumes into the air. Tamatanga glared at Gallywix through the bars of her prison, and her eye twitched. She looked over at Fezzrik, who glared at Gallywix with as much heat as the erupting volcano they were being taken away from. Nib sat next to Fezzrik, watching smoke cover the sky. She looked away from the both of them and closed her eyes to think.

There has to be a way out, she thought, her head wailing as she pondered their predicament. There has to be a way out of this cage, a blind spot, a way to crawl out of this…

Her shoulders slouched as she thought, her body aching from head to toe. Her head nodded, and she knew she was falling asleep. She opened her eyes, but they stung from the dust, and she shut them again as she fell unconscious.


	18. Tamatanga, Part 6

Tamatanga awoke in the sticky haze of a ruddy twilight. Actually she awoke in her individual bamboo cage next to the other prisoners in their cages, but the first thing she noticed was the pressing humidity and the blood-red sky. Where she and the other prisoners were being stored at al fresco was a newly demolished section of jungle next to Gallywix's docks that housed his brand new yacht. There were several dozens of cages that framed the dirt roads. She was smack dab in the middle of the web of dirt roads with a perfect view of the shimmering ocean. If she stood on her tip-toes she could just see the tops of the KTC oil rig past the docks.

Pirates were milling around the construction zone, brandishing their stolen guns and cutlasses to each other. A hyena man and a human man up ahead, both wearing red pants that looked slightly familiar. Her thoughts flashed back to Kezan and she remembered the pirates looting abandoned homes as the ground trembled beneath their feet. The trade prince could probably afford an armada of pirates since he held the life savings of the gobs he crammed into his yacht. The orcs were probably being bought off as she sat there plotting escape. She crossed her arms and scowled, not liking her odds.

"Enjoying your new accommodations?" Gallywix said as he approached her in his mechanical spider.

She looked up at him and bit the side of her tongue to keep her face straight. Now was not the time to get angry. Maybe there was something malleable under that sweat-drenched purple suit.

"It's roomier than my place back at Drudgetown."

He chuckled and held his lit cigar with a gold-gloved hand.

"You look good, Tamatanga. A little on the skinny side, but still good."

"Ain't got much time to eat when you're a slave."

"That's the nature of the beast. Don't take it personal."

She stood up and stretched her arms behind her head.

"We could make it personal."

She mentally sighed when he laughed at her again.

"I don't think Candy would care too much for that."

"Candy ain't here."

"We had our fun, kid. Now just sit tight while I go get some paperwork written up," he said and stuck his cigar back in his mouth.

She watched him clunk away down the road, gobs flinging curses at him like idiots. Tamatanga kicked one of the bars, feeling like a desperate, pathetic idiot. She plopped down on the wood floor and rubbed her forehead with her knuckles. One of the pirates she saw earlier walked passed her, their key rings hanging out of their pockets. The blond man came over to her cage and waved the key ring right within arms reach. She glared at him.

"Look, look at my pretty key," he said in Common, then in Orcish, and laughed both times when she didn't respond.

He shut up when the oil rig spontaneously combusted. The force of the blast shoved Tamatanga against the walls of her cage and the pirate to fall flat on his back, dropping his key. Tamatanga snatched and stuck the key in her shirt just as she was struck deaf for the second time that day by the fiery kaboom. The pirate took out his gun and pointed it at her. He said something but she couldn't hear because of the ringing in her ears.

"WHAT DOING HUMAN?" bellowed one of Gallywix's hobgoblin brutes in Goblin as he pounded down towards the pirate.

"She….key!" the pirate yelled back in Common, paling underneath the shadow of the brute that stood three heads taller than him. He was still pointing his gun at Tamatanga.

"WHAT?" the brute said in Goblin again.

"SHE STOLE MY KEY!"

The hobgoblin rubbed his tiny ears and shook his head, either not hearing him or not understanding Common.

"GALLYWIX NEED HELP," the brute said. "WE GO PUT OUT FIRE BEFORE MORE BOOM."

"BUT SHE HAS. MY. KEY."

Tamatanga stood up and shook her head, the keys well hidden under her shirt.

"HE'S LOST HIS KEY," she shouted at the brute in Goblin, praying to all the gold in the world that he could hear her.

The hobgoblin growled at the pirate and said, "DUMB PIRATE."

The pirate stuck his gun inside the cage with his finger on the trigger, his bearded face red with rage.

"What did you tell him? You stinking, thieving, lying, ugly goblins! Give me my key back or I'll shoot!"

Tamatanga stood her ground and yelled at the hobgoblin, "HE CALLED US STINKING, THIEVING, LYING, AND UGLY."

The brute gnashed his yellow teeth at the pirate, who now held his gun close to his chest.

"Don't you take another step! I wasn't talking about you, you're not a goblin!"

"HE SAYS YOU'RE NOT A GOBLIN."

The human pointed his gun at Tamatanga again when the brute roared and smashed his fists together.

"Stop talking to h—AUUGH!"

The hobgoblin grabbed the human by the head and chucked him high into the air. He looked back down at Tamatanga, showing hurt in his eyes.

"Don't let it bother you, hun. You better go down to the oil rigs to put out that fire."

The brute hit his head with his hand and said, "I forgot!" before heading down to the beach. Tamatanga did a quick look-see for any more pirates or brutes before unlocking her cage with the metal key. She swiped the pistol the pirate had dropped before being flung to his death.

"Hey, let us out too!" said her neighbor, a man with part of his long nose bitten off, who clung on the bars.

"I'll come back," she said and ran down the winding road without another word.

She ignored the pleas for escape until she finally reached Fezzrik's at the border of the construction site. He was rapping his knuckles against the bars and talking to Nib in the cage next to him when he saw her.

"Ma?" he gasped, his brown eyes wide. "How did you get the key?"

"I'll tell you later," she said as she unlocked his cage.

"Damn, I'm impressed, Tamatanga," Nib said and gave her a crooked smile.

She rolled her eyes and unlocked his cage too.

"You owe me one," she muttered under her breath.

"Of course," he said as he strutted out.

"Look!" Fezzrik cried out and pointed to the area where Tamatanga was held. "I think that's the Mystery Goblin!"

"Where?"

BOOM! A cage with what looked like rockets attached to it flew in the air, a screaming goblin bouncing inside it. Tamatanga squinted to see if the goblin had his nose partly bitted off.

"I think you mean the work of the Mystery Goblin. He's got style," Nib laughed.

"Or she," Tamatanga said.

They watched a few more cages fly up fast and fall down faster.

Someone called out to them, "Hey, what are you all doin' just standin' there? Let us out before the Mystery Goblin does!"

Tamatanga turned to Nib and Fezzrik, who were looking at her for an answer. She sighed.

"I'll go unlock the cages," she said, gripping the key tight in her left hand, "but you two keep and eye out for any trouble and anything useful."

The boys nodded and she went right to work unlocking as many cages as she could. The ringing in her ears lowered to a dull hum, but she still listened for any signs of trouble. Her eyes still sought for any flash of red pants or the shine of a pistol that wasn't hers. Her breath caught in her chest every time she opened a door and a goblin hopped out to run for hills. If she calculated right (and she always did), she was freeing every three goblins for every one goblin that went flying in the air.

"Thanks," a pink-haired girl with a belly hanging over her torn teal leggings said as she ran out. Tamatanga watched her go for a moment.

"I think that's it," Nib said and pointed at the sky. "The Mystery Goblin must have run out of rockets."

"Do you think there's anymore captured goblins?" Fezzrik said to both of them.

Tamatanga scanned over the site and perked her ears. She couldn't see a soul, but could hear fighting further down by the beach.

"Let's get going before we get caught again," Tamatanga said.

"Yeah. Let's go, kid," Nib said and smacked Fezzrik's shoulder. They all turned tail and ran for the slightly-less dangerous jungle, were hopefully there wouldn't be bomb-throwing monkeys trying to enslave them.

They were barely under the shade of the canopy when Tamatanga ran into Mida. The taller goblin laughed and clasped Tamatanga's shoulders with her calloused hands.

"Tamatanga! It's good to see you in one piece," she said. "I've been hearing that you've been freeing goblins."

Tamatanga grinned at Mida. "Glad to see you're still here. Did the Mystery Goblin free you?"

"Nah, I managed to not get kidnapped over and over. Anyway, we all got work to do. Warchief Thrall went and challenged Gallywix to free us, and last I heard, the Mystery Goblin's gonna help him out too, but we're helpin' by keeping Gallywix's goons off the Warchief, and we need every hand we can get."

"I'll help!" Fezzrik said as he lifted the machete he found in the construction site.

"Count me in too," added Nib. Several large wrenches hung on his belt.

Tamatanga opened the barrel of the gun and counted.

"I'm good for six shots," she told Mida, "then I'll just whack 'em until they stop moving."

Mida nodded. "I'm good with that. To the docks!"

Tamatanga's stomach somersaulted as they ran out of the jungle and ran to the beach. Sand soaked up blood and oil. Hot wind stole the last breath of a goblin whose head was crushed under a hobgoblin brute's red foot. She halted, aimed, and fired a bullet straight through the brute's ear canal and he fell.

Chaos continued. Smoke and soot from the fire at the oil rig burned her eyes and throat. The next three shots Tamatanga shot were worthless: one grazed the hard skull of a brute, a second buried itself in the sand, and a third hit the hand of a goblin that she didn't know was with or against Gallywix. A bullet punched a hole at the tip of her right ear. She held her breath and immediately ducked down, trying to find the gunman in a mess of gunmen from both sides. She fired again and hit a pirate in the throat. A hyena pirate jumped her from behind and smashed her into the sand. Her pistol shot its last bullet in the sand and the hyena collapsed on her. Her head lay sideways, nose sticking out from under the stinking pile of fur. She held her breath and clawed at the sand.

"UNCLE, UNCLE!" she heard Gallywix cry out.

His cries cut through the fighting, and every lunking head of Gallywix's brute stopped to look up at the docks where Gallywix, Thrall and the Mystery Goblin were fighting. The goblins and the pirates stopped and looked up too, but much more confused than the hobgoblins.

"Here, need a hand?" said the pink-haired pregnant girl Tamatanga had freed earlier. She bent over and pulled Tamatanga out by the arm with bloodied hands.

"Thanks," Tamatanga panted. "Did I just hear the trade prince call uncle?"

The girl grinned a wide grin that flaunted her pink-tattooed teeth. "Yup."

Tamatanga looked up at the platform and watched Gallywix grovel before the warchief and the Mystery Goblin. She smiled as well, because it was a funny and rare thing to see.

"I'm your goblin, Thrall. What would you have of me?" asked the trade prince, still sitting his banged up metal spider. Tamatanga shaded her eyes so she could see the warchief ponder. Standing next to him was the Mystery Goblin, completely obscured by the Shredder he was riding in.

At last, Thrall bellowed, "For now, you will remain the Trade Prince of the Bilgewater Cartel. I will send a representative among your people to the new warchief, Garrosh Hellscream in Orgrimmar. You will have a new home in Azshara and the Bilgewater Cartel will be apart of the Horde!"

Gallywix nodded at this and yelled, "It will be as you say! Long live the Bilgewater Cartel! For the Horde!"

Every goblin cheered. The fighting was finally over and they would now have a new permanent home. Tamatanga saw Fezzrik climb up on an oil barrel and whooped and hollered with his blood-soaked arms. She tossed up her own sandy hands, sticky with blood and sweat, and cheered.

The volcano rumbled its final warnings of instant death, and the celebration was temporarily halted as the goblins went screaming up the docks and into Gallywix's new yacht.

TTT

"Well, things couldn't have worked out better," Nib said as he finished eating his can of salted tuna on the deck of Gallywix's yacht.

Tamatanga leaned back on the wooden railing and felt the need for a stiff drink.

"Gallywix is still our trade prince, we're still on our way to Azshara, and Kezan is still sunk," she said, still staring up at the stars, "but at least we won't be slaves anymore. At least, I won't be. To hell with Azshara, I'm sticking to Orgrimmar."

Nib shrugged and tossed his tuna can out to sea.

"I guess I will too, until I get better at Orcish," he said and folded his arms on the railing. "What do you think Fezz is gonna do?"

Tamatanga shrugged. "He hasn't told me anything. He's just been talking to the orc, as if he won't talk to plenty of them in Orgrimmar."

They stopped talking and let the sounds of the sea and goblin babble fill the silence.

Tamatanga pushed herself away from the railing and crossed her arms. "I don't know why you care what he does anyway."

"I get along with him is all. He reminds me of Jaz."

His face was turned away from her and she wanted to grab it to see what he meant by that. She bit her tongue instead. The danger was over and there was nothing else to do on a ship but eat, piss, and think about the loss. She bit her cheek and turned away to find Fezzrik.

She found him not partying with the other goblins at the middle of the lighted deck or sitting with the iron-clad orc Chawg, but sitting alone in the dark at the stern end of the ship. He jumped Tamatanga touch the dark scar on the back of his head, and he lifted his face from his knees.

"Sorry," she said and sat next to him. "You doin' okay, kid?"

His voice was strained when he answered, "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Thinkin' about your dream home in Azshara?"

He smiled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. She felt the urge to hug him, but she balled her fists to stop herself.

"I'm not ready to settle down yet," he said, looking away from her. "I don't know, Ma. I was thinkin' about what's happened and I was thinkin' about what I'm goin' to do when we reach Orgrimmar."

"And what are you gonna do?" she said, her toes curling. She knew what was coming.

He looked at her and started to say something, but stopped. She tapped him on the shoulder with loose fingers to urge him on.

"I want to live on my own, Ma," he said, his ear folding back a little in apprehension.

She chuckled and tapped him on the shoulder again.

"Was that so hard to say?" she said. "I guess that's why most kids just pack and run."

His ears fanned forward again and he laughed too.

"I just…ha," he said and scratched his nose. "I was worried you'd get upset."

"Are you kidding? It's high-time you made something of yourself, but you've got to take better care of yourself, Fezzrik. I won't always be there to save your skin."

"Ha, yeah. I was talking to Chawg and he was saying he knew where I could get good work."

"Fantastic! That's using your head, Fezzrik," she said and allowed herself to throw an arm around his shoulders. "Just remember to always have something up your sleeve in case something doesn't go your way."

He nodded and his shoulders relaxed, and they both let out a sigh of relief.

Tamatanga felt that she had reached the summit of Mount Kezan. Exhausted but exhilarated, she had managed to raise a dependent child into an independent adult. Though many obstacles had been thrown in her way, she dug her heels in and overcame her struggles. She squeezed Fezzrik's shoulders before standing up again.

"C'mon, let's see if they have any canned pineapple upside down cake to celebrate," she told him.

He leapt up right to his feet.

"I'm sure I saw a couple of cans below deck. Hopefully they haven't been eaten up yet," he said.

"Lead the way," she answered and followed him to the cool darkness below deck to scrounge for cake.


	19. Tamatanga, Part 7

Orgrimmar looked about as welcoming as a hornet's nest.

The front gate was made of solid stone and reinforced with steel plating. Pikes studded the bottom of it to dissuade any attacking armies. Many of the free-standing buildings inside the city wore crowns of metal spikes, while the homes and buisness carved out of the cavern's walls were plated with leather and metal. The heavily-armored guards in their stinking leather and mail armor glowered and grumbled in the streets, running their calloused fingers over their sheathed weapon of choice if they thought the citizens were getting a little too out-of-hand.

Thankfully Mida was able to find some space near an area called the Valley of the Spirits for the sudden surge of goblins to settle in. Tents made out of rusting metal sheets or ragged cloth popped up all around an oily goblin-made lake. Most goblins moved on to Azshara, following the promise of quick pay and a better roof over your head.

Tamatanga, on the other hand—

"Banker," Mida said as she passed by Tamatanga's bald spot of allotment she called home.

Tamatanga chased after her. "Wait a minute, what if I got other business plans?"

Mida lowered her clipboard and looked down at Tamatanga.

"Do you?"

"No."

"Then you're one of our bankers. Know where that kid of yours is, by the way?"

"No, I haven't seen him since we got here. He finally moved out."

"Of all the times to cut the umbilical cord," she grumbled. "Ah well, let me know when you catch sight of him. It's only been a few hours, so he couldn't have gone far."

"Right," Tamatanga said, her stomach sinking to her shoes. She shook her head and went down to the motley colored canopies at the entrance of the goblin slums to get to work. She was glad to have some sort of regular work again and to get her mind off of where Fezzrik was staying and if he found any work and if he had food to eat. She chided herself, because whether or not he could survive in Orgrimmar wasn't her problem anymore. She needed to focus on herself, on getting a tent up and a stock of food, on making plans for the future.

She built a small canopy out of a sheer yellow cloth from a bag of rags donated by Orgrimmar's more charitable sort. She scratched up the dirt to make it softer for her to sleep on. Her fingers pressed against her tight stomach, trying to get to the knot in her stomach and untie it. Fezzrik hadn't slept in the same bed as her since he was four—five?—but he still slept in the same house, curled up in his bed with a pillow between his knees.

Tamatanga closed her burning eyes and latched them with her fingertips until she fell asleep.

TTT

A couple of days passed by with no word of Fezzrik. Again and again Tamatanga had to tell herself that he had to stand on his own feet, and that as long as he wasn't caught stealing, he would be OK. He'd go find her before he would die in the streets, or at least she'd hope so. She'd stay in the slums until he came to her. It'd be easier to find her if she'd stay in one spot, if he wanted to see her. Why wouldn't he want to see her?

"I was wondering where you went," Nib said as he brought in his paycheck. "Cash, please."

"No prob," she said and squinted at the chicken scratch written on the check. "You work at this…Nogg's Machine Shop?"

"Yup, it's right in the Drag just opposite of the orphanage. You should swing by sometime."

"Has Fezzrik come to swing by?"

"Yeah, he did."

Tamatanga paused in her counting.

"He's doin' good," Nib added with a nod. "Doin' good. He hasn't seen you yet?"

"No, he hasn't. If you see him, tell him I live in the yellow tent over there."

"Yeah, I will. He was lookin' for you too, so I'll tell him that."

"Was he?"

"Yeah. Don't worry, Tamatanga, I'll make sure he finds you."

"Thanks. Here's ya dough," she answered as she handed him a bag of coins.

"Thanks." He hid the coins in his leather working vest and left.

Later that night, Fezzrik came to her doorstep wearing a new cotton tank, leather breeches, and an apologetic face.

"'Lo Ma," he said softly. "Sorry I don't have flowers or nothin', but I thought you'd like it better if I bought you dinner instead."

"Dinner sounds fine," she laughed, patting her flat belly. "Sure you've got enough change to feed us both?"

"More than enough. Let's go to The Broken Tusk."

"You've eaten there before?"

"Yeah, and the food and drink's pretty good."

Not needing to be told twice, the pair set out for the Valley of Strength under the flickering lights of flaming lanterns.

"You're livin' in Orgrimmar or Azshara these days?" Tamatanga said.

"Orgrimmar."

"You must be making it pretty good to not live in the slums. Once I save up and get enough experience, maybe I'll get a banking job in Azshara. Maybe Ratchet, actually. It's weird being so inland."

"Yeah."

She glanced at him. His shoulders slouched so he could bury his fists deep in his pockets.

"Worried about something?"

"What?"

"You're not as chit-chatty."

He straightened his back. "Tired, I guess."

"They must be working you pretty hard for you to be this tired."

"I guess."

Their footsteps echoed in the near-empty cavern. Fezzrik was doing something Tamatanga wouldn't like, she could plainly see. She decided to push a little harder.

She said lightly, "What are you working at these days?"

She could see him cringe in the shadows.

"I'll tell you when we get there."

The Broken Tusk was easy to spot, as it was the noisiest place in all of the Valley of Strength. Orcs, trolls, and goblins piled inside the brightly lit place, while a few stumbled out to kiss the ground good night. The two stepped around a troll moaning about loa as his yellow eyes stared up at the starless night sky. Inside they had to squeeze between the sweaty, stinking drinkers, from hide tanners to off-duty grunts, to get to the bar at the far end of the round room. There were no barstools.

"YO!" Fezzrik shouted in Orcish to get the purple-and-black clad barkeep's attention. The orc looked back and forth at his eye level before looking down over his wood bar. Fezzrik threw a silver coin up on the counter. "Two cactus bitters and pickled snout!"

The barkeep nodded and disappeared. Tamatanga heard the orc's hand slap on the bar table to pick up the silver, the clinking of glass, and sloshy plunks. A troll pushed himself in front of Fezzrik, and before either goblin could say a word, a one-eyed grizzled orc shoved them all out of the way to bark an order. The barkeep walked out from behind his bar with a small tray that carried the two full tin cups of bitter cactus cider and two black pickled pig snouts. Tamatanga and Fezzrik grabbed their meal and found a quiet spot by a brooding tauren that nursed a hissing brew.

Tamatanga leaned against the wall and sipped the sour, cloudy drink. Fezzrik downed his cup in one gulp.

"All right, what is it?" Tamatanga said in Goblin.

He cleared his throat.

"You might want to start eating the snout," he responded in Goblin and put on a weak smile.

Tamatanga bit the snout and quickly understood what he meant. Her teeth gnawed at the tough, spicy skin of pickled snout, her tongue looking for any bit of meat. Fezzrik looked into his empty cup for a moment. His eyes raised to meet hers.

"I've joined the Orgrimmar army."

Tamatanga's blood ran cold; even the ghostwind chili spice of the snout felt bland and cold in her mouth.

"Tomorrow I'm gonna start training, so I won't be able to see you for a few weeks. I'll be here in Orgrimmar, but after I graduate, I'll be deployed elsewhere."

Her blood pressure shot up as if to make up for the extreme dip in temperature just a half a minute ago. She chewed faster.

"It won't be so bad, though! It's not like we're still warring at Northrend, plus any treasure we find, we keep a share of. Plus, with my education, I'm sure I'll rise up in the ranks—"

"DIE!" a Forsaken woman with shock-white hair roared as she threw a knife at the tauren next to them. The black-and-white bull swatted the knife out of the air and unhooked the massive ax from his back.

"I may have been bruised and beaten—" he rumbled before getting knocked in the jaw by a green fist. The tauren grabbed the orc and threw him into the crowd. Among the cracks of breaking noses and slurred curses was the continuous laugh of an accordian played by some drunken goblin hidden in the mauling mass. Tamatanga and Fezzrik watched the bar fight for a minute more before continuing on to their business.

"So…what do you think?" Fezzrik said, squeezing the snout in his hand.

Tamatanga took another sip of cactus cider that stung her pepper-burned tongue.

"I think it's gonna get the brains I spent so many years filling blown out," she said, her face growing hot. "I can't believe you, Fezzrik. I thought you were smarter than this. Y'know Mida was askin' me where you were? She could have given you something more useful to do, but instead you're just gonna waste everything."

His thick eyebrows furrowed. "The army ain't useless, Ma. Who do you think got us off the Lost Isles? Who freed us from being slaves to Gallywix?"

"I didn't say it was useless, I said you could have been more useful elsewhere. Y'know, you could have been a banker or could have started your own monopoly. You don't see me going to the quarry now, do you?"

"If you did, I would have supported you."

"Oh, come on. You'd be an idiot to support me in that sort of work unless I'm running the damn quarry. I wouldn't have two coppers to rub together otherwise."

Silence fell between them as the violence around them roared.

"I just…" Fezzrik mumbled, not looking at Tamatanga in the face. He shook his head and spoke louder. "I expected you to throw a fit, to be honest."

"Being angry would be pointless. You signed a contract and doomed yourself, and there's nothin' I can do about it."

"Then why can't you support me?"

"I'm not gonna support something I think is a bad idea."

"It's not a bad idea! It's steady work!"

"Until you're dead. Can you not get through that thick skull of yours that I don't want you dead?"

Fezzrik threw away his cup and snout. With a roll of his eyes, he said, "Well, shit, it's not like we had to fight gnomes or ogres and almost get killed."

"That was different," Tamatanga said and threw her meal on the ground. "We were put in that situation with no way out. We didn't flock to it like it was the last gold piece ever made. We didn't have a choice, we both could have died."

"We're still alive though, and I'm still going to go fight, and I'm going to come back alive."

"You don't know that, Fezzrik."

"You don't—you don't—"

Suddenly his arms quivered and he turned away from her. Her body went cold again.

"Fezzrik, I—"

She touched his shoulder and he shrugged her hand off.

"You don't know if I'm goin' to be killed," he said after a moment.

"No, I don't—"

"Then how are you so sure it'll happen?"

She leaned against the wall, a pair of crossed hammers hanging above her head. He turned towards her, brown eyes glaring at her. She looked away from him.

"You can't be naïve enough to think that everyone lives after a battle."

He didn't say anything, but she could still feel his eyes on her. She sighed.

"Fezzrik, even if only one person died in battle, that one person could still be you. I can hope that it isn't you, but hope doesn't stop a battle ax from splitting your skull. I've known that since the mines," she stopped herself and looked down at her shoes. She never told him much about the mines, and now she was beginning to regret it. "You didn't know if a gas would kill you, or a rock crush you, or if you'd just collapse and die from exhaustion. You'd hope it wouldn't happen to you or people you liked, but it often did, because that's what happened when you worked in a mine."

She watched him absorb her words.

"I'm not trying to be mean or wishing you death, but I can't sugar-coat this either," she added, her arms crossed and her hands hugging her bony sides. A thought sparked in her mind. "Were you trying to tell me this on the boat?"

He smiled a little bit, but looked down at the floor.

Tamatanga continued, "That's why you were nervous, that's why you thought I would be upset. This is the 'good work' Chawg said you could have?"

"Yeah."

"Did he even tell you what it was about?"

"Yes," he said and met her eye-to-eye. "He told me all about it, about his training, about his adventures, about the people who died. He didn't sugar-coat anything, either."

"Right, an orc not gloating about a glorious death."

"Ma, I'm not joining the army because an orc told me how great death would be or all the treasure I'll find. It's…the way he told his stories, you got this feeling of how close his unit was, and how they trusted each other." He shrugged. "Chawg also said that with my education I'd be rising up in the ranks pretty quick and earn more money, too, but I have to prove myself first."

She threw up her hands. "I still don't understand it."

"I guess I can't make you understand it," he said sadly. "I don't know, why do you do the work you do?"

"It makes me money with little danger to myself, and because I'm good at it."

Fezzrik flashed a grin. "You never know; I could be a good soldier, then a better general, and a fantastic whatever-comes-after-that."

"You don't even know all the ranks?"

"No, but I'm sure I'll learn them by the end of the week."

Tamatanga chuckled at that. "I'm sure you could do that at least."

The bar was noticeably emptier than it had been. The barkeep collected the spilled or abandoned tin cups while a pale female orc with a black queue hauled the stone tables upright. Shouts and curses from drunken men and women of all languages echoed from the streets. Mother and son glanced at each other.

"We should probably go," Tamatanga said.

Fezzrik nodded and they left the inn in complete silence. Outside was the drunken mob fighting an enraged tauren with glowing gold eyes. Tamatanga and Fezzrik slipped into the shadows and headed towards the Drag just as the spike-clad guards rushed at the mob. They slowed down as they entered the dimly lit Drag.

"Where are you staying?" Tamatanga whispered, but the sound her small voice and footsteps grew ten times louder as it bounced up the length of the narrow cavern.

"Barracks, in the Valley of Honor," he whispered back. "I can't see you during training, but I can still write to you."

"I'd like that. Could I write you back?"

"Of course," he said and laughed a little.

His face looked tired and old under the shadows of the flickering lamplight. He wasn't smiling, but his voice had a strained smile to it. Numbness flooded from her head to her toes, as if she was standing on a fraying tightrope and the last strand was about to snap.

"I'm sorry, y'know. I push too hard and—" she spat out.

"It's fine, Ma," he said.

"—now you're gonna go train while you're on bad terms with your mother."

"We aren't on bad terms, we're just mad at each other. 'S not like we haven't fought before."

"You were living under my roof."

"Well, yeah, but didn't you tell me, 'You're my kid, and I'm stuck with you'? Did that change when I moved out?"

"I don't know."

"What?" he gasped.

They stopped in the middle of the empty street. A light from one of the higher apartments flooded out into the night, but Tamatanga did not see the silhouette of its lighter.

"I don't know, Fezzrik. You don't need me for food or money or anything anymore, so why should you stick around if I don't like what you're doing?"

"What the hell, Ma? What kind of gob do you think I am? Do you think I wouldn't have put you in that pod if I weren't living under your roof? Do you?" he shouted, the whites of his eyes illuminated with lamplight.

"I don't know."

"Yes or no, Ma. It's simple."

She didn't answer.

"Ok, I get it now," he said as he took a step back, his face veiled in shadow. "I get it. You think I would have left you to die if I didn't see any profit in it. Fine. I don't know what I did to make you think that, but whatever it was, you can't trust me because of it. Glad I know that now."

"You didn't do anything wrong."

"Then why do you think I'm going to abandon you?"

She considered telling him the true nature of his birth.

"You can't understand."

She turned away from him, hearing only her footsteps echoing in the Drag as she walked towards the Valley of Strength. Her bones felt hollow. Cool wind pushed against her back and she wanted float away from everything.

When she returned home, she forced herself to sleep as the neon-colored strings of lights buzzed around her. She tried to imagine herself flying out of Orgrimmar and back to Kezan. As soon as she had fallen asleep, her mind twisted her dream, and she fell screaming toward the black-blue ocean, hanging onto the frayed end of a tight rope that broke underneath her feet.


	20. Tamatanga, Part 8

Tamatanga banged her empty shot glass on the pockmarked bar of the Wyvern's Tail and only looked up from the crook of her arm after the red-headed troll bartender filled it. She sipped the cloudy liquid that sent a flash of heat in her numbed face before sinking back into her arm and feeling sorry for herself.

It had been a week since her fight with Fezzrik, and she had not heard one peep from him. She had bought herself some paper and pens to write first, but both collected a week's worth of dust. She couldn't think of anything worthwhile to say and it was eating her up that she did not trust Fezzrik, when she had thought that he, out of everyone in all of Azeroth, was the only one to have her complete trust. She had deluded herself without realizing it.

She finished her drink and felt her scalp go numb. Four drinks down, so many more to go. Why would she lie to herself about trusting Fezzrik? She had no reason to doubt him—he was her own blood, after all, but he was still a goblin, and goblins could be real shitty, even to the gobs they were closest too.

Bang bang, rang her shot glass and it was filled once more.

It's not lot Fezzrik had any reason to trust her either. She'd been lying about the circumstances of his birth since he had the brainpower to ask her. Weeeeell, not exactly lying, but omitting the truth. It was none of his damn business anyway—besides, he was real close with Nib, that shithead. Yeah, yeah, they were turning a new leaf, as the night elves would say, but he was still the same shithead that slammed the door in her face and would probably slam it in her face again if she needed help again.

Bang bang.

"Your glass is still full, mon," the red-headed fuzzy face said. Tamatanga raised her glass and drank kerosene.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The blue fuzz was saying something she couldn't hear over the roar of the hive of wasps in her head. Who the fuck cared what a blue thungy said when there was no one to trust in the world, no one to talk to openly without people getting hurt, nothing nothing nothing—

Tamatanga woke up staring at the ceiling of the Wyvern's Tail. Vomit clogged her nose and throat but she was too worn out to move. She felt a big hand gently pull her to the side and let the bitter, chunky fluid run out of her. The roof of her mouth felt hot and raw. A cup of lukewarm coconut water was offered to her lips and she took mouthful of it and swallowed before passing out again.

She woke up again feeling like her throat had been laid out in the sun to dry. She sat up with her head in her hands, that old familiar feeling of a hangover pounding in full force. Her eyes opened and she saw that she was sitting in a hammock on the second floor of the Wyvern's Tail. Stale morning light shone through the open front door. In a minute Tamatanga was up and stumbling down the wall-hugging wood staircase.

"Morning," said a light-skinned orc woman with purple pigtails. She was the only other person in the tavern. "Looking for some breakfast?"

Tamatanga shook her head and regretted it. "No thanks, I'm late for work." She dug her hands in her pockets in search of coins and swallowed what little saliva there was in her mouth. "How much do I owe you?"

"You don't. Your tab was paid off last night."

"What? Who?"

"Dikasara."

Tamatanga stared, the name foreign to her.

"Who?"

"An orc. You'll recognize her by the little blue pig that always follows her around. She's a regular here, there, and everywhere when she's in town, so I'm sure you'll see her soon enough." She crossed her legs under her grass green skirt and took another sip from her stein.

"Right. Thanks for the info," Tamatanga said as she strode out of the tavern.

Her eyes stung from the strong sunlight that fell from the sky and bounced off the sand and straight into her face. She made a mental note to invest in a good pair of sunglasses before her eyeballs evaporated out of their sockets. When she arrived to the motley mass of tents of the slums, her mind cleared up enough to remember to take a day-after pill when she got off work.

The lines were long when Tamatanga finally arrived to the red tent that served as the bank. A knotched-nose bruiser waved her in and she tapped the shoulder of Gimmil, a wide-eyed and sweat-stained banker with a baldhead the shape of his overhanging belly.

"You're late," he growled.

She clapped him on shoulder. "Congrats for noticing, now let me work."

He grumbled as he handed his customer his money before shuffling out. Tamatanga stood right up to the edge of her table and said, "All right, nex—damn it."

Nib stepped up opposite of Tamatanga and handed her a greasy check.

"Nice to see you too," he said with a snort.

She rolled her eyes. "Deposit or cash?"

"Cash, please. So, you've seen Fezz lately?"

Her shoulders tensed as she opened the safe to count out his cash.

"Yeah, and I don't want to talk about it," she called out.

"Don't blame you. It pissed me off too when he told me what kind of job he landed."

She slammed the money on the table and glared at him.

"I told you, I don't want to talk about it."

Nib shrugged off her hot glare. "Come on over to Nogg's and we can talk about it over there while I'm sorting screws."

"There's nothing to talk about." She counted out his money to him, put it in his empty leather bag he had put on the table, and pushed it towards him.

He sighed and pocketed the bag.

"Well, you can come over to Nogg's anytime you want. I pretty much live there," he said before disappearing into the crowd.

"Whatever," she said and shouted to the crowd, "Next! I SAID NEXT."

By the time Gimmel returned to tag her out an hour before sundown, Tamatanga felt like stomach had eaten half of itself, her feet had burned to nubs attached to her ankles, and her brain had imploded and left sharp bits of shrapnel inside her skull. She walked as quickly as she could to Dr. Phix's tent for a new bottle of day-after pills and painkillers. She chewed on the pills that left a bitter tang on her tongue as she walked to the Valley of Strength to pick up some food and hopefully find Dikasara all in one go.

The pain in her head and feet were easing as she navigated through the crowds orcs, trolls, tauren, goblins and even a few undead flooding from their jobs and to their apartments built right in the face of the surrounding cliffs. Thankfully the food stands propped up around Grommash Hold were still open. She was immediately caught by the enticing scent of sausage and followed her nose to a meat stand with the name "The Chop House" painted in red of a wooden post. Hunks of dried meat hung on the thick metal posts that held the red awning. In front of the spiked metal stand were three round tables, complete with braziers to cook your own meat with and flat stone seats to sit on while you ate.

Sitting at one of these tables was a dark blue troll woman who sat up very straight and cut up her piece of boar shank delicately, making sure not to squirt juice on her pale yellow dress. The woman sitting next to her was a short orc sinking her teeth into a second rack of boar ribs, not caring that she was dribbling juice down her shirt and leather vest. Eating just as noisily was a massive blue boar who buried his face in a wood bowl full of fresh vegetable greens and fruit. Tamatanga stepped to the side of the boar, who rose his head up to inspect her.

"'Scuse me, but are you Dikasara?" she said, ignoring the boar's snout burying itself in the worn fabric of her tan slacks.

The orc lifted up her scratched face, her light brown eyes meeting Tamatanga's.

"Yeah. Who're—oh, I remember you!" She wiped the grease on her chin with a fist. "Glad to see you're doing OK."

"Thanks. How much did you pay the innkeeper?"

"Don't worry about it."

"I need to pay you back."

"No you don't. Like I said, don't worry about it."

"Let me pay your dinner then."

The orc chuckled at her. "I get that you don't want to be in my 'debt,' but you have no debt from me. I have absolved it. There is nothing to pay back." Dikasara waved her free hand as if she was erasing the debt with one swift swipe before pointing to the grilling meat. "You're welcome to join us, though. It's already paid for too, so don't worry."

Tamatanga crossed her arms and her stomach growled.

"I guess since it's already paid for, thanks. The name's Tamatanga."

"Good to meet you, Tamatanga. This is my friend, Sol."

Sol bowed her head a little in greeting, her blue eyes looking down at her folded hands on the table. Her face was absolutely symmetrical—from her high cheekbones to her small polished tusks that protruded from her mouth.

"Nice to meet you, Sol," Tamatanga said before ripping off a hunk of peppery meat off the bone.

"So what is that you do here, Tamatanga?"

Tamatanga gulped down the meat. "I'm a banker at the slums. You?"

"Adventurer."

"Adventurer?"

"Yup. I travel the world and get paid to do the work other people don't want to do, whether it be collecting mushroom samples or taking down some sort of war criminal."

"Are you an adventurer too, Sol?"

She shook her head once, still looking down at her hands, and said in a hushed voice, "I'm an apprentice."

"I'd like her to go on adventures with me, but now's not the right time for her. That's ok, I'm planning on kicking it in Orgrimmar for a little while anyway."

"You must be paid pretty good, then."

"Depends on the task and the payer. It's not always easy, but I enjoy the freedom of just going wherever I want to go, as long as I have my boar and wolf with me. Oh, how could I forget? This little guy right here is Bacon."

"It doesn't bother him that we're eating pork?"

"As long as it's not him, it's fine."

Dikasara and Tamatanga carried the rest of the conversation until there was nothing left but the bones of the boar they had eaten. Sol had eaten without a slurp or burp and with her eyes glued to her hands, though she paused when Tamatanga told of her 'adventure' of the Lost Isles.

"We lost our home too," Sol suddenly said, cutting Tamatanga off mid-sentence. She rose her eyes a little to meet Tamatanga's face.

Tamatanga blinked. "What?"

Dikasara nudged Sol's arm with her elbow and grinned. Sol flushed and looked down at the table again.

"Nothin'. Pardon me interruption."

Tamatanga continued on, puzzled by the sudden interruption, then remembered that troll slaves once lived on Kezan too.

"You from Kezan?" she asked.

Sol scrunched her face and shook her head.

"Darkspear."

A vein twitched in Tamatanga's aching head, irritated that this troll thought that a name would somehow fully answer her question. She bit her cheek and decided not to argue.

The sun had fully set and the street lamps were lit by the time they'd started to walk home together, Bacon in tow. Sol's somber face turned worried as they approached the guarded entrance to the Valley of Spirits. One of the metal-clad orc guards stepped forward and growled, "Out a little late tonight." The other guard snorted in contempt. Both glared at Sol.

"It is the weekend, guys," Dikasara laughed as she threw her whole arm around Sol's shoulders. The hair on Bacon's blue back bristled as he stepped protectively in front of Dikasara. "And after a well-earned night out, I'd like to escort my friends home, and my friends quite conveniently live in the area you are guarding so well."

"Everyday's the weekend for you," the second guard grumbled, then eyed Tamatanga and continued to talk to Dikasara as if the goblin wasn't there. "You're hanging around goblins now, too? Doesn't your back hurt just thinking about it?"

Tamatanga's head began to throb again as she forced herself to not roll her eyes. Dikasara merely smiled and said politely, "Why would my back hurt?"

"From bending over to hear them!"

The guards had a good laugh at their expense. Dikasara's smile remained frozen on her face and Tamatanga bit her cheek so hard she felt it bleed.

"Hilarious. Well, g'night boys," Dikasara said as she stepped forward.

Still laughing, the guards stepped aside and wished her good night. Tamatanga took a deep breath of the moist air as they walked on the rickety bridge that splintered off into several smaller bridges throughout the watery chasm. Light only came from the open-air wooden huts that seemed to have sprouted from the bridge ends, some small and single story, others as tall as the palm trees that thrived in the place. Tamatanga tried not to look around too much, however, because every hut, rock, and tree seemed to hide a pair of troll eyes that watched her every step.

An elderly troll with wiry white hair met them halfway down the main bridge. She stood up straight and looked glared at them all before barking something in Troll. Sol bowed her head and whispered in Trollish back to her before turning to Tamatanga.

"It be good to meet ya, Tamatanga," and then she said something in Troll to Dikasara before silently following the old woman into the shadows.

"Let's not overstay our welcome," Dikasara said and resumed their walk. They left the place without another word, troll eyes burning on their backs.

Tamatanga shivered when they finally entered the well-illuminated Slums.

"That was freaky," Tamatanga said.

Dikasara laughed so loudly at this that Bacon and Tamatanga jumped with surprise.

"Sorry, sorry," Dikasara said. "I'm not laughing at you, honest."

"You don't think a thousand troll eyes all staring at you is weird?"

"Nah, I guess I'm just used to it. Trolls ain't the most trusting, and considering all that's been happening, they're even less trusting, 'cept for Sol, of course. One of the friendliest trolls I've ever met. I know she doesn't seem like it, but that's because she's just extremely shy, even around other trolls. Give her time and she'll open up about her shell collection and her pet snails."

They stood at the bare outskirt of the slums, and Tamatanga felt an ache in her bones to go and sleep in her newly added hammock she hung in her raggedy tent and forget today for at least a few hours before morning. At the same time, she didn't want to say good-bye to Dikasara.

"You okay?" Dikasara murmured.

"No," Tamatanga sighed, too exhausted to divert the discussion.

"Anything I can do to help?"

"You have kids?"

"Hell no."

Half of Tamatanga's mouth smiled. "I don't think you can help me."

"Well, if it's a parent problem, I think I know someone who can help you."

"Who?"

"The woman who raised me of course."

TTT

Tamatanga found herself sipping a sour and sweet drink from a clay cup in the shade of the Orgrimmar Orphanage, the woman who raised Dikasara sitting opposite of her, Matron Battlewail. On the low table between them sat a sweaty clay pitcher of the cool drink. Even though the afternoon was scalding hot, Dika and the other orphans were kicking around an old leather ball outside so that Tamatanga and Battlewail could talk a little more privately in the shade of the newly built orphanage. A woman who looked a little older than Dikasara picked up the numerous sack-dolls and toys that were strewn over the clean stone floor.

"How do you like the drink?" Battlewail asked Tamatanga.

"It's good. Never had it before," she answered before taking another sip. It did taste good on a day as hot as today. She observed the orphan matron for a moment: steel-gray hair was neatly brushed, her face clean, her blouse a crisp white, and her skirt a shocking pink. "How did you get the name Battlewail?"

"I was born with it," she answered sweetly as she set down her cup. "Now, let's get to the matter at hand. Dikasara said I could help you, but that's all she's said. What do you think I can help you with?"

Tamatanga scratched the back of her neck and went over in her head what she had planned to say for a while now. "It's about my son and me."

The goblin waited for the orc to say something, but nothing came. Battlewail had both ears open.

"He joined the military behind my back, and got mad that I didn't support him. Then I said something stupid." She curled her fists on her knees. "I told him about how I really felt about him, and now I don't think we can speak to each other again."

The matron shrugged. "Part of that is up to you. Have you tried contacting him?"

"No. I don't even know what to say after…I'd only make things worse."

"Are you sorry you said it?"

"Yes," Tamatanga mumbled, a knot forming in her gut.

"Start with that."

"Saying sorry isn't going to fix any of this."

"Of course not."

"Then why bother with it?"

"Because it's an opportunity to start to mend wounds with your son before the fester into grudges."

Tamatanga's thoughts went straight to Nib and a bubbling anger rose in her throat. She remembered their agreement, and the anger settled back in her stomach and made her feel sick. She hadn't kept her end of the bargain.

After finishing her cup, Tamatanga asked, "Can I ask you something personal?"

"Go ahead," Battlewail said as she refilled both of their cups.

"Are you afraid Dikasara will forget to come back to visit you?"

"I worry about Dikasara and each of my grown-up orphans every day, unless they've been laid to rest in the graveyard." Battlewail sipped her drink. "I have had a couple of orphans that I was fond of leave Orgimmar the moment they were adults and I have not seen hide nor hair of them since, and it hurts even more when my thoughts wander to their whereabouts. Even so, they are their own persons, and I cannot force them to visit me or communicate with me. I've raised them to be able to be able to survive in this world, and if they do not need me for their survival, then that's how it's going to be. Most of the orphans here, however, do come back and tell me all about the lives they're living, and I write to the often to let them know I'm still thinking of them. Is your son still in Orgrimmar?"

"Yeah, but he's in training, so the most I can do is write to him."

"The handy thing about writing is that you can polish your words well before you send them."

"Yeah."

"I think you know what to do from here. I hope I've helped a little bit."

Tamatanga found herself unable to look at the matron in the eyes. She preferred to rock her cup and watch the ground cinnamon swirl in the brown drink. Tamatanga knew from the start that she would have to write Fezzrik, but talking to someone who understood at least some of her fears made her feel less afraid of making things worse.

"You have. I never had parents myself and because of circumstances concerning his birth, I think I attached myself too close to him." Tamatanga looked up at Battlewail and smiled a grim smile. "I don't even really have friends anymore, y'know? All my old friends either stabbed me in the back and I only talk to them if I have to or they're dead. I think I know what to say to him now. Thanks."

TTT

_Fezzrik,_

_I'm sorry. You're my only true friend, my only son, and I'm terrified of what would happen if I lost you. I've let my fear get the better of us. I want to fix this before you leave Orgrimmar, if you'll let me._

_-Ma_

A week and half passed in silence until—

_Ma,_

_I want to fix this too._

_\- Fezz_


	21. Tamatanga, Part 9

Nogg's machine shop was a mess of oil, tools, sparkplugs, magnets, and half-eaten sandwiches in a three-story tower built next to the pond that marked one end of the Drag. Tamatanga leaned on the bright purple trike Nib work on from underneath its engine, the gray boombox sitting on the hood of the trike blaring its depressing tune sung by some Forsaken circus band Tamatanga never heard of:

_When I step out the door_

_The jungle is alive_

_I do not trust my ears_

_I don't believe my eyes_

_I will not fall in love_

_I cannot risk the bet_

' _Cause hearts are fragile toys_

_So easy to forgeeeee—_

"Any sign of Nogg?" Nib shouted over the car and radio. Tamatanga leaned forward and looked out of the stone archway. She squinted from the two spotlights that blazed on even if it was high noon.

"Nope. Nothin' but orcs," she said as she watched the little orc orphans from across the street play ball. Dikasara was not among them.

"Good. If I hear one more car song I'm gonna knock a few skulls."

"Yeah," she said and looked up at the smoked ceiling. "Ya almost done with this?"

"Gettin' there. Then it's on to the next trike. These things are getting too damn popular."

"Think you can build me one and sell it to me wholesale?"

"What are you gonna use it for?"

"To drive."

He scooted from under the car and scratched his blond head with a filthy hand.

"No, no," he said. "I mean, are you just gonna drive around town or goin' off-roading?"

She shrugged. "I dunno, I was just kiddin' around. These things are too damn expensive."

"About as much as a house for a new one, but if you talk to Worthaton I'm sure you can work out a deal for a used trike. Those are guaranteed to explode more than the newer models," he said with a grin.

Tamatanga wasn't smiling.

"You're goin' to settle in Orgrimmar, aren't ya?" Nib asked her—

_And just when I think_

_That things are in their place_

_The heavens are secure_

_The whole thing explodes in my fa-a-a-a-a-ace_

"Tamatanga?"

She curled a fist and put her forehead to her knuckles.

"The only thing keepin' me here is Fezzrik," she said just loud enough over the music that screeched in their ears. "I was thinkin' that I'll stay here until he returns from his deployment. By then I'll have a better idea of what I want to do for my life, and I should have a good amount of dough too."

_There's a golden coin_

_(It's just another day)_

_That reflects the sun_

_(It's just another day)_

"What if he gets killed before his deployment's up?"

"Leave sooner."

"You hate this place that much?" he laughed.

_There's a place in the stars_

_(It's just another day)_

_For when you get old_

_(It's just another day)_

Tamatanga raised an eyebrow. "You wanna stay here forever?"

"As long as I can. Nogg's got shit taste in music but he ain't half bad to work for, I live right above where I work, and there's not a live volcano in sight. This place is paradise," he said and crawled under the trike once more. "You could always go to Azshara. I heard that the gobs are really doing wonders there. It's like they're trying to reboot Kezan."

"Nope, I want to try someplace different. I might give Ratchet a try." She laughed at herself. "Hey, you ever imagine yourself living this long?"

"I hoped I'd be able to live this long."

"Yeah, but did you ever imagine about what or who'd you be if you lived as long as we did?"

"I imagined myself working a relatively stable job that allowed me to stay alive. You?"

"Not really. I never thought I'd live this long. It was dumb luck that got me out of the mines, and it'll be dumb luck that'll bite me in the ass." She took in a breath and let it out slowly. Her eyes closed and she saw the tunnels again that she and so many just like her helped burrow deep into the earth for glowing kaja'mite. She saw the gob known as the Whip, his face saggy with wrinkles and dirt, frazzled white hair clinging in clumps on his spotted scalp. It was his face she saw first, the whip she saw last. Both cracked in unison—

"'Shoulder up and move on,'" Tamatanga quoted.

Nib said nothing.

She continued, "I was standing next to the Whip when the mine collapsed. I ducked under him so his head would be crushed by the rocks instead of mine." Tamatanga stood up and stepped to the center of the cluttered room, her hands in her back pockets of her second-hand red pants that had faded to a sort of pink. "You ever think about the mines?"

"Hey, um, change it back to Nogg's station. I have a feelin' he's going to ambush me and then I'll hear about it for the rest of the day."

"Sure," she sighed and spun the dial back to the old station. What sounded like an elderly male goblin sang with a guitar and piano:

_I'd get it one piece at a time_

_And it wouldn't cost me a dime_

_You'll know it's me when I come through your to-o-own_

_I'm gonna ride around in style_

_I'm gonna drive everybody wild_

' _Cause I'll have the only one there is around_

She left soon after that, Nogg still not having returned, and meandered into the Wyvern's Tail. It being the dinner hour, the tables were full of drinking trolls, goblins, tauren, and a few orcs that the innkeeper ran circles around to keep up with their orders. Tamatanga slipped through the crowd unnoticed and snagged a spot near the end of the bar. She waved to the troll bartender and ordered a light beer and pork pie.

As she nibbled on her savory yet sweet pie, Tamatanga didn't blame Nib for not wanting to talk about the mines; they were an experience she'd like to move on from and forget. Years of ignoring old hurts and memories weren't helping her move on. She needed to talk to somebody, anybody who was willing to listen to her—ok well not to just anybody, but somebody who proved to her to be a trustworthy enough person to not blab her secret thoughts to every gob in the world, and that someone couldn't be her son. Her thoughts went immediately to Mida Silvertongue, whom she got along with every time she had five minutes to talk. The problem was that workaholic Mida Silvertongue rarely had five minutes to shoot the breeze.

"Fancy meeting you here," Dikasara said as she took the stool next to Tamatanga. She called out to the troll, "Gravy, I feel like dyin' in paradise."

The troll cackled before he left the bar and went through a door where Tamatanga assumed was the kitchen. Tamatanga gave Dikasara a side-glance.

"Do I even want to know?" she asked.

The orc laughed, "Oh, you'll see exactly what I mean in a bit. Anyway, I haven't seen you in a few weeks. Everything goin' all right?"

Tamatanga felt Bacon's wet snout sniffing her foot, but ignored it. "Pretty well, all things considered. Fezzrik and I have been writing to each other often enough, but about nothing serious yet." Dikasara's left eyebrow went up and Tamatanga continued, "Fezzrik's my son."

"Oh! So Battlewail was able to help you out?"

"Yeah, in more ways than one." Tamatanga drank a little more of the bitter beer before continuing. "Anyway, thanks for the reference in case I have any parent-related questions."

"No prob. I love playing with kids and being their 'big sister' so to speak, but being a friend and being a parent are two different things, y'know?"

"I guess. I dunno, I never had parents. I guess parents aren't supposed to tell their kids everything, eh?"

Dikasara gave her a sympathetic smile. "Kids don't tell their parents everything either."

It was a good thing that the beer glass Tamatanga squeezed was made of thick glass, or it might have shattered in her hand. "Kids tell their parents most everything, though, right?"

"Most everything, but not  _everything_ , either because the kid doesn't want to tell or the parent doesn't want to hear it—" she stopped short when Gravy returned with a plate of charred meat on a small mound of white rice, fried plantains, and green beans in one hand and a tall glass of pineapple juice in the other. Dikasara rubbed her hands together as Gravy served it to her in silence before returning to the bar. Tamatanga could smell the searing spiciness of the meat from where she sat.

"What is that?" Tamatanga asked as Dikasara took a big bite out of the hunk of meat.

"The best jerk raptor in all of Azeroth," the orc manage to say as tears streamed out of her eyes and she laughed. "It'll make you cry with joy and pain."

Tamatanga raised both eyebrows. Dikasara scarfed down a couple more bites before gulping down her pineapple juice. She pointed at a jar of dried bell-shaped red peppers about the size of a goblin's thumb hiding in a shadowy corner of the liquor shelf and said, "Y-You see those? Those aren't sweet peppers, those are Bwomsandi's Breath. Hottest damn pepper in all of Azeroth, and there's got to be a few of them in this one piece of raptor." She hacked a cough and drained her glass. "At first it's just a t-tingle on the tongue and then it just gets worse and worse. Legend has it only Vol'jin can eat it without crying."

Dikasara didn't speak again until she finished the raptor. After she sucked up the last bit of sauce, Gravy put a yellow yogurt drink in her shaking hands that she sipped slowly and let sit in her mouth.

Tamatanga shook her head and laughed, "You are one crazy orc."

The crazy orc swallowed and laughed with her, "Gravy only gives his jerk raptor to people who are crazy enough to finish it." She waved a free hand toward the group of crying trolls that were eating their own jerk raptor. "It is damn good, though, I highly recommend it."

Their conversation continued throughout the rest of dinner and dessert (tahini halva studded with pistachios), but now Dikasara told more of her stories as an adventurer who left her orphanage at fifteen to go and explore Azeroth and beyond with boar in tow.

"You always traveled alone?" Tamatanga interrupted as she scraped up the last of her sweetmeat.

Dikasara paused. "No, I've had Bacon with me."

"I mean, besides Bacon."

"Eh, most of the time, yes, but I prefer it that way. Battlewail and Pakkar don't like it, but that's their problem."

"Pakkar?"

She grinned. "Childhood friend. He's a shaman that won't stick his head one inch out of Orgrimmar, but he's a good guy. I should introduce you two sometime. Ready to go?"

"Yeah," Tamatanga said as she slid out of her chair, her stomach groaning as if it was digesting a cannonball, "and I'd have to introduce Fezzrik to you too."

"I'd be honored."

Dikasara hopped out of her chair and the trio stepped outside into the cool evening. Tamatanga stretched and took in a great gulp of air.

"Well, it was good to see you again, Dikasara," she said and meant it.

The orc nodded. "You too, and call me Dika. It's less of a mouthful. Also, see that apartment over there?" She pointed to the top apartment of a tower carved out of the middle of the drag. "I'm on the top floor, room 13. If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to knock. I'm on my 'vacation' so to speak, so you'll most likely find me up there."

Tamatanga scratched her head right in between her three braided pigtails. "Well, you know where I live and work, so in case you need sugar or something you can swing by."

"Great! See you, Tamatanga."

"Bye."

Tamatanga watched the orc and boar strut down the Drag for a moment before pivoting on the ball of her foot and practically skipping back to the slums. It felt good to have a new friend.

TTT

Another couple of weeks passed, and one night after work Tamatanga got a surprise when she entered her tent.

"Fezzrik!" she gasped.

He was still as skinny as ever as he slid off her hammock to greet her, but he was strong enough to lift her off her feet when he hugged her. She laughed and patted the hardened meat of his arms when he put her down. "Looks like all that training wasn't for nothin'. They gave you new clothes too?"

"Nah, the only clothes they give you are the ones you're gonna fight in, and I don't plan on fighting in these," he said as he dusted off the shoulders of his neon green silk shirt. His brown linen pants were properly hemmed and his black boots were still shiny and only slightly creased. "The Alliance would see me a mile away."

Air weighted heavily in Tamatanga's lungs. "Alliance?"

"Yeah. In a week they'll be shipping me off to Ashenvale to gather up some resources for the Horde. Only things in the way are the night elves."

"Oh."

They were silent for a moment before Fezzrik added, "I was planning to spend my week here, if you've got an empty corner for me."

She clapped her hands on his wrists and kept smiling. "Yeah, you can use the canned soup as a pillow. Anyway, I'm starvin'. We can go to the Wyvern's Tail and maybe you can meet a friend of mine there."

"Tomorrow night we can go to the Broken Tusk and you can meet a few friends of mine."

"Sounds good! Let's get goin' before the dinner rush."

They reached the bar in good time and Dika and Bacon were in their usual spot at the bar, but Dika was talking to a male orc dressed in rough woven robes, his square, severe face giving his full attention to Dika. The only handsome thing about him was his slicked topknot of dark titian hair that reached his wide shoulder blades. Tamatanga waved a hand and Dika's sharp eyes caught it.

"Tamatanga!" she called out, breaking away from the other orc's gaze. "Good to see you, take a seat. Who's the fellow with you?"

"My son, Fezzrik," Tamatanga answered as she took a stool next to Dika. "Who's the fella with you?"

"My friend, Pakkar."

Fezzrik bowed his bald head to both the orcs, Pakkar returning the favor. At last Gravy came to them with the first round of drinks. The night ran long with food, booze, and good company (though Pakkar sat as silently as a molding log), but Tamatanga made sure she didn't drink too much tonight. She wanted to remember tonight and to not say anything too stupid.

Once Tamatanga and Fezzrik shuffled home that night, Fezzrik insisted that she take the hammock and he'd sleep on the floor.

"It's somethin' I gotta get used to anyhow," he chuckled as he laid himself down to sleep.

Tamatanga laughed with him, though she cringed in the dark. Why did he always bring up his damn deployment and ruin a good moment?

"Hey, Ma," he whispered.

"Hm?"

Silence, followed by soft snores. He did have more to drink than her, after all. She wiggled around in her hammock until her head was hanging over his, so she could hear him in case he threw up.

The following night followed the same routine, with the only difference being that they ate in the always over-crowded Broken Tusk with Fezzrik's loud friends from training. His friends were mostly orcs, both men and women, but there was also a Forsaken woman with a leather strap bolted over her eye sockets and a tauren bull with a gold ring through his nose. Again, when they returned home she laid over him in case he threw up, and he never did.

The following day Fezzrik went to visit Nib while she worked, her brain foggy with a tension that silently bubbled between her and her son. All this friendly talk was just a band-aid on a broken leg.

Fezzrik didn't return home until late that night when Tamatanga was scraping out the last baked bean out of a can by lantern light.

"Want some beans?"

"I'm full, thanks."

She patted the space next to her on the hammock she sat on. "What were you going to tell me the first night you were here?"

Gingerly Fezzrik sat next to her and leaned back enough for his feet to hang. He folded his hands and stared up at the holey ceiling. "I was gonna ask you about my pop."

The hair on the back of Tamatanga's neck stood up on end, but she kept her voice steady. "What did you want to ask about?"

"Did he leave you?"

She wanted to say "worse" but instead turned to him and said, "I'm sorry, but there's some secrets a mother has to keep from her child."

"Why?"

"It'll burn us both if I tell you." She looked over him again and saw only herself, especially through the hurt in his eyes. "Trust me, Fezz, you're better off not knowing. It'll make you as crazy as your mother."

"You aren't crazy."

"I thought you'd never want to see me again after I disapproved of your career choices because you didn't live under my roof. Any sane person could tell that you'd stick to me like a burr on fur, regardless of what I thought. I've let old fears take control, but I'm gonna put an end to that. Don't worry, I'll still be worrying about you when you're fighting elves."

He let out a weak laugh. They were quiet for a moment, and Fezzrik put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry I got bent out of shape when you weren't thrilled about me joining the military. I'll do my best to make sure I get back home alive and in one piece."

"It's all you can do."

"Try not to have a heart attack from all the treasure I'll bring back from my missions, 'k?"

Both of them busted out laughing when the hammock snapped from their weight and the entire tent collapsed on them. They laughed even harder.

TTT

The rest of the week passed by in a flash for Tamatanga, save for Fezzrik's final night home. They had managed to get the tent back up but left the hammock spread out on the floor so they could be next to each other without fear of the tent collapsing again. They went to bed early because Fezzrik had to get up before dawn to run to the barracks and get ready for his deployment. Tamatanga awoke often in the night and watched the dim outline of his chest rise and fall before going back to sleep.

Fezzrik shook her awake when the sky was still dark.

"Hey, I have to go," he whispered.

She sat up and threw her arms around him. He put his forehead to her shoulder and hugged her back, letting her hold his head like when he was a child.

"I love you, I love you, I love you—" she whispered in his wide ear before her throat seized up on her.

"I know you do, Ma. I love you too," he said in her shoulder, his voice shaking.

"I can't watch your back out there, so be careful."

"I will, Ma."

They held onto each other in the glass world of that little tent as morning light gnawed at their final moments together in Orgrimmar. Tamatanga kissed Fezzrik on the head and let him go first. She was, after all, his mother. He kissed her cheek and left the tent without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song excepts used here are "Just Another Day" by Oingo Boingo and "One Piece At A Time" by Johnny Cash.


	22. Tamatanga, Part 10

_-We've finally arrived at_ [cut out] _after a week of marching. There's trees everywhere (not palm trees, I'll sketch a tree and send a leaf at the bottom of this letter) and they're as tall as Grommash Hold. I've never seen this many trees this close together. It's quiet and noisy at the same time—sometimes I can't sleep at night because you can hear the murlocs gurgling out mating calls, and there's the weird hiss from the deeper parts of the forest. Torlak says it's just the combination of all the small sounds insects and animals make, but Aileen says it's the trees plotting our murder. Either way, if I was out here by myself, I'd go insane. I don't know how Dikasara can travel alone for so long and not go crazy after a while. Light's out in a couple of minutes, will write again soon._

_Fezzrik_

Winter flew swiftly into Orgrimmar in the form of harsh, cold winds that seemed to suck out what little moisture there was in the air until a short but desperately needed cold rain that turned the dirt roads into mud. It wasn't all bad, though, as Dikasara let Tamatanga stay with her during the three day storm (the only storm they'd be having that winter) and until the mud dried up.

Once the sky had cleared, the tacky decorations celebrating the Feast of Winter Veil spawned from almost every corner of the intimidating city and exploded in the goblin slums. Twice Tamatanga had to rebuild her little tent because of explosions caused by party popper experiments.

"Ah Winter Veil, how I love it," Tamatanga said wistfully as she, Dikasara and Sol passed the giant Winter Veil tree propped up in front of the spiky tower with bonfires in every window, Grommash Hold.

Dikasara raised an eyebrow and grinned. "Is that so? I thought you'd hate spending money on stuff you couldn't keep."

"Not exactly true. Most of my shopping went to Fezzrik, which meant I'd eventually trip over one or more of my gifts eventually. Shopping in Kezan was half the fun, though, especially during Blackout Week."

"Blackout week?"

"Yeah, it's when every shop is open all day and all night all week on the day that Pilgrim's Bounty begins, and there's always killer sales, but there's a limited supply, so you'd have to fight and strategize to get what you want for the price you want. It's too bad you folks here in Orgrimmar don't have that here."

"Yeah. Too-o-o-o bad."

"Anyway, when I still had a house, Fezzrik and I would go and just decorate it with all the tinsel we could get our hands on before we put the tree together."

"What?" Sol interrupted, but looked down at her hands as Tamatanga answered her.

"What do you mean, 'what'?"

"I don't understand what ya mean by, 'put da tree together.' Tree be already together."

"Oh, it wasn't like this kind of tree you have to cut down and sweep up pine needles everyday. This was an aluminum tree, you'd set it up with a color wheel below it that'd light up to whatever color you wanted it to be. When you were done you'd take it apart, put it in a box, and save it for next year. All twelve days of Winterveil we'd eat a slice of pineapple upside down cake. Hopefully Smokey Wood Pastures will have some canned cake I can send him."

"If not, we can send him my cake."

Tamatanga pasted on a grin, remembering quite vividly the pineapple upside down cake Dikasara had made for her during the three day rainstorm. Dikasara made it with fresh cut pineapple rings and cornmeal and cooked it in a cast iron skillet before baking it in the oven and flipping it over on a plate. It was edible, but it wasn't Kezan pineapple upside down cake.

"I'll keep that in mind."

They reached the crowded Smokeywood Pasture wagon set up just outside the Auction House. Tamatanga managed to squeeze past a couple of tauren ahead of Dikasara and Sol to look at the brightly wrapped gift sets piled around the wagon and immediately spotted the cans of pineapple cake by the foot of a pig-tailed saleswoman.

"Yo, how much for the pineapple cake?" Tamatanga yelled over the growing rabble of the crowd.

The young woman looked down at the cans and looked up at Tamatanga. "20 silver a piece."

"Make it 10 and I'll buy 10."

"15."

"10."

"15."

Tamatanga rolled her eyes. "Fine, I'll have my friend here just make some and I'll mail it to my military boy."

"13," the salewoman shouted.

"11."

"12."

"11 and a half."

She shrugged. "All right, deal. You are now the happy momma of ten cans of Smokeywood Pastures canned pineapple upside-down cake. And since you mentioned that you've got a boy in the service, why not also send him our Winter Veil military sausage and cheese package to satisfy his hunger after a long day on the field? It includes a Smokeywood Pastures Authentic summer sausage, mustard, and cheddar cheese?"

Tamatanga looked at the neatly-assorted package bustling with savory goodies and shredded brown paper. "How much?"

"For you, half a gold piece. I'd normally charge a full gold piece, but we must support our troops!"

Tamatanga cringed at the price and glared at the saleswoman in hopes of calling her on a bluff. The pig-tailed woman looked coolly back at her. Tamatanga mentally cursed, having spent so much on the canned cake, but she did have some savings and would just build it back up again—

Suddenly Sol said, "I be payin' it and I be givin' it to her."

Before Tamatanga could say a word in protest, the salewoman cried out "Sold!" and Sol gave her a half of a gold piece in exchange for the wooden box of sausage and cheese with a Smokeywood Pasture emblem stamped on the front. Tamatanga looked up at Dika, but even the happy-go-lucky orc was gobsmacked.

Sol turned to Tamatanga, her eyes always downcast, and handed the box to her. "Happy Winterveil to both of ya."

Tamatanga looked up at her and managed to get out, "Thank you, but—"

The troll cringed and walked away from Tamatanga. Dika ran after her and called out to her in Troll, but Sol continued to make a beeline for the Valley of Spirits.

One of the sales goblins snapped at her, "Oy, ya gonna take your stuff?"

Tamatanga clenched her jaw and piled her cans of canned cake on top of the large wooden cheese and sausage box, her mind whirring with ideas to pay Sol back.

Several days passed before Tamatanga ventured into the troll area of the Valley of the Spirits with a square silver-and-red wrapped package in her hands. Several trolls still stared at her, but most gave her quick glances before returning to whatever work they were doing. Tamatanga's stomach flopped at the idea of having to ask one of them if they knew were Sol lived, but soon enough she saw the troll walking down the main dirt road with a beautifully carved teak box in her hands.

"Hey, Sol!" Tamatanga called out a rushed towards her.

A couple of male trolls who walked behind Sol raised their spears just high enough for the polish iron spearheads to catch the sunlight, their yellow eyes fixed on the goblin. Tamatanga's heart jumped in her throat and she stopped in her tracks. Sol turned and greeted the guards, her head bowed again.

The man on the left with rings in his braided yellow hair spat something out in Troll. Sol pointed to Tamatanga and said a few quiet words. Now the man on the right stamped his spear against the ground and shook his fist towards Tamatanga.

"Dis be some trick of yas, goblin?" he growled and jutted his bottom jaw to show more of his sharp teeth. "Ya think it be funny to give Sol somethin' dat'll explode in her face?"

Tamatanga collected herself enough to say, "She bought my son a Winterveil present so I bought one for her too."

Tears sprung in Sol's blue eyes. "Oh, oh dat be kind of ya, Tamatanga, real kind—"

The blond male cut her off, "I know me goblins. Open dat up so we know it not be a bomb."

In the corner of her eye Tamatanga saw a growing crowd of trolls that could squash her with just one of their big toe-toed feet creep out of the shadows of the trees to see what would happen next.

"Sure, sure, let me open it then—"

Tamatanga ripped off the silver bow and the red wrapping to reveal a plain cardboard box.

"All of it," rumbled the blond troll.

With trembling fingers Tamatanga opened up the box and pulled out two halves of a shiny tabletop aluminum tree, spilling packaging peanuts onto the dirt. To be safe, she put it together with a click that did not result into an explosion. To be extra safe, she poured out all the packaging peanuts and showed them the empty box.

"See? Perfectly safe," she said.

"Da hell be dat?" the spear-stamping troll asked, pointing at the tree.

Sol turned and sounded like she was explaining what it was, because the blond troll just rolled his eyes and grunted out " _Lutins_ , " before telling Tamatanga to pick up her trash. They two men continued down the main road through the Valley of Spirits and the rubberneckers disappeared into their work.

"I be sorry about dat," Sol murmured so softly that Tamatanga barely caught it through the crackle of paper and Styrofoam being shoved in the cardboard box. "Come to me place for tea. I be carryin' me gift."

After they cleaned up the gift Tamatanga followed Sol down a skinny bridge over the clean, shallow lake and to not one of the many huts built alongside the cavern wall, but to the entrance of a deep, dark tunnel. Sol handed Tamatanga the gift and her own carved box so she could face the darkness with empty hands. She said something in troll and fire spurted to life just inches above her palms.

"Follow me," Sol said and walked quickly into the tunnel. Tamatanga followed her, the hair on the back of her neck rising. It'd been a long,  _long_  time since she had been in a tunnel, and she was in no rush to return to one. This was not like a mine tunnel, though, as this one was smooth and curved downwards into a gyre while the mines were built like anthills with their numerous criss-crossing paths.

It wasn't long before Sol's breath went haggard and she let one of the fires go out.

"Hey, uh, you okay Sol?"

"Don't talk," she said and Tamatanga zipped her lip. Sol's gasps echoed throughout the tunnel and blared in the goblin's ears.

After going down what felt like a hundred feet they reached a large cave and Sol rushed to light the torch set by the entrance of the cave. With a sigh she let the other flame in her hand go out before lighting the other oil lamps around the perfectly round cave, their initial black puffs of smoke rising up and through an air hole in the roof of the cave. Sol then rolled out a rough blanket by the center fire pit and invited her to did and stood the aluminum tree next to her, watching Sol pluck several sticks out of the pile of sticks arranged by size and color. Next to that pile were several rows of cups, bowls and cooking utensils also arranged by size and purpose, next to that were several labeled and corked clay pots and glass jars of food, next to that were two wooden chests Tamatanga assumed held their clothes and jewelry, and completeing the circle of perfectly ordered household items were two large, glass bowls with perforated cloth tied over the opening, each containing a red with gold streaked snail the size of Tamatanga's head.

"Those your snails Dika's told me about?" Tamatanga asked as she scooted closed to the lit fire pit.

Sol smiled warmly as she set an iron over the low flame. "Dese be me snails, Pasyan and Lent."

"They're very big."

"Yes, dey be almost two years old."

"They look healthy too." Tamatanga scooted again and caught sight of the small wooden box Sol was carrying earlier, but now sat on top of one of the plain chests. It was made of the same yellow teak as the chests, but the sides were painted with just about every color of the rainbow to match the vibrant colors of the tropical fish that swam or ate or hid in the blooming coral. The lid and its cluster of tiny islands on top of it were not painted but sanded and finished so expertly it glittered in the dim light.

"That's a pretty box."

Sol followed Tamatanga's line of sight. She picked up the box and handed it to Tamatanga before kneeling next to her. "Dank you. Me older brudda made it for me."

"Wow, really?" Tamatanga said as she gently turned the box around to admire his handiwork. "Does he live around here too or is he at the Echo Islands?"

"He be dead."

Tamatanga looked up from the box, her stomach sinking to her feet. "Oh, damn, I'm sorry."

Sol stared at the fire and shook her head.

"May I ask ya somethin'?"

"Yeah, what?"

"Did ya not be knowin' what I meant by Darkspear, when we first met and ya be tellin' us about how ya homeland be destroyed?"

"Wha—oh, I remember. Yes, I didn't get what you were tryin' to tell me back then, and I still don't get it. I mean, I know that Darkspear is your tribe name, and that some of you live here and the Echo Islands, but not that much else. Sorry," she added, suddenly embarrassed by her own ignorance.

Sol continued to stare at the fire. "We used to live on da Darkspear Islands far away from here, until many terrible dings happened all at once. Humans invaded, murlocs captured our leader, Sen'jin, and sacrificed him to da Sea Witch, and she sank our island. Me, me mama and papa, me older brudda and sister, and me baby sister were the only ones that made it to the boats to Durotar."

"And the others?"

"Dead."

Tamatanga pressed the box against her abdomen.

"What, was there a naval battle or…?"

"No, not like how your people died. Dere was a storm dat threw me brudda overboard and me older sister jumped after him. Me parents got sick and died in dere beds right after, so I had to take care of me baby sister. I woke up one morning and she be dead by me side when she be healthy da night before." Sol paused and turned her gaze to Tamatanga, and the goblin could not look away from those crying eyes. "I know what ya be thinkin', that I can't look people in da eye and dat I can barely talk to strangers because of what happened on dat boat, and I not lie, dat didn't help, but I be born a coward and a crybaby and me parents did not punish me for it. Dey knew dat I couldn't help it, dat it be who I be—"

Tamatanga shook her head. "Look, Sol, look, I didn't mean to make you cry."

Sol's gaze fell to the ground again. "It not be your fault. I can either scream or cry, and I rather cry. It feels better to cry."

"I'd rather scream than cry, to be honest." Tamatanga chuckled a little to lighten the mood. "I get embarrassed when I cry, even if I'm by myself."

"Me teacher says dat if she turned me tears into good water, we wouldn't be worryin' about drought ever again."

"We could use it, that's for sure. Where is your teacher, anyway?"

"Business at Echo Islands. I can't say more than that. We'll all have to have tea togedder one of dese days."

Tamatanga handed Sol her box back. "Thanks for letting me look at it."

"I'm glad ya liked to look at it." She hugged the box and lowered her head to Tamatanga. "I'm sorry I talked so much about meself and me troubles, and that I made ya uncomfortable with me cryin'."

"No, don't. It's better to let it out than to keep it all bottled in, y'know? If ya need to cry, ya need to cry, but I don't want to be the reason you're crying."

"Me life be why I'm cryin', Tamatanga, and I don't know if I ever be able to stop."

Steam billowed out of the iron kettle and they were interrupted so Sol could focus on making tea. After the spicy-sweet cardamom tea was served in plain clay cups, Sol said, "Could ya tell me more about ya life in Kezan?"

"What part of it?" Tamatanga asked and blew on her tea.

"Any part ya want to talk about."

She talked about her life in the mines, about the Whip, about the numerous gas leaks that left goblins young and old dead either by asphyxiation or explosion, about the gruel and water she ate once a day, about seeing the sun for the first time in her life after digging herself out the remains of the collapsed tunnel.

"That's one of the few times I just broke down and sobbed," she said into her fifth cup of tea. "I just felt so small and that the world was just going to swallow me up, but my friend—my friend at the time, Bisou helped me up and said I could cry when we got to Drudgetown."

She could still remember the first time she took in the smell and sweat of a million goblins driving, walking, working, and eating in that beautiful chaos of Kezan City. Her tiny hand clamped Bisou's as they wandered under the smog stained sky.

"How're we gonna survive?" Tamatanga had asked with a dry mouth.

Bisou, just hitting puberty at the time, squeezed Tamatanga's hand back. "I'll figure somethin' out, don't worry. Just stick with me so ya don't get lost."

"Okay."

Present-day Tamatanga took a deep breath and sighed. "That was a long time ago."

"May I ask, she still be livin'?"

Tamatanga shrugged. "I don't know. To make a long story short, we drifted apart."

"Hopefully she still be alive and well."

Tamatanga looked down at the perky aluminum tree that stood between her and Sol, reflecting sparks of firelight. Fifteen years ago Bisou was her best friend. Fifteen years later and she found her son, a crazy orc, and a shy, awkward troll to be better company. Who knew what awaited her fifteen years down the line, if she lived that long.

Tamatanga raised her cup and clinked it with Sol's. "If she is, maybe we'll meet again."

TTT

_Ma,_

_Thanks for the Winterveil presents! I got it in yesterday's mail but then night elves came so I wasn't able to open it until just now. After all the mystery mash for weeks on end this is a welcome change, though on New Year's we were given a good dinner of fresh bear steak, greens, and yams that didn't look like they were thrown in a grinder before cooking._

_Hope your first piece of treasure made it through the mail all right. I found it on the field after helping clean up after battle. They look pretty old and Elven so I don't know if you can spend them. I've seen some of the Forsaken soldiers sew coins in their clothes or in their skin, but I think that's more for decoration than safe-keeping. Sewing it in your skin would be a good idea to make sure no one pickpockets you, though—_

Spring brought wind, wind, and more wind, but very little rain. The water in the pools at the goblin slums and the Valley of the Spirits shrank from knee-deep to barely ankle-deep. Water rations were set in place. People were thirsty, people were dirty, and people were getting sick. Waxon Shine developed a waterless soap for people to use, but after many complaints of headache, nausea, cotton mouth, boils on hands and feet, belly button leaking, and an increased desire for grilled cheese, the product was quickly banned and the creator warned in the dead of night to not make a drop of the stuff again.

When Tamatanga would go to Sol's place, she noticed that more and more trolls were moving out of the drying up Valley of Spirits and to the cooler, wetter Echo Islands.

"I have half a mind to go there myself. Is this sort of weather normal?" she asked, nursing the one and only cup of tea she would be given to drink.

Sol looked gravely at Tamatanga. "No, it be not. Da winter and spring winds always brought good rains with it."

"Well, you're a shaman, do you know why the weather's acting like this?"

"Me teacher's been conversing with da elements, but all she tells me be that dey be in pain." She rose her eyes a little and smiled at Tamatanga. "It be all right. Me teacher is very strong and very close with da elements. She made dis tunnel and dis cave—"

"By herself?!"

"No, with da Earth element. I saw it. She doesn't use totems, she just put her hand on the earth and it fell away without her sayin' a word."

"I didn't see you use totems either."

Sol untied a small leather bag that hid in the folds of her yellow linen skirt and pulled out four small wooden animals.

"I need da totems, and I plead with da loa, and sometimes da loa listen to me and sometimes dey don't."

"And your teacher doesn't have to worry about that?"

"No. Dey always listen to her, like she be one of da loa herself."

Sol's face told everything else to Tamatanga: this power wasn't natural, this was dangerous, and it was terrifying, but if a shaman so in tune with the elements couldn't even get them to stop this drought, who could?

Three days later while Tamatanga was at work, Sol stood at the back of a long line of wind-battered goblins. The gobs looked up and snickered at her, but she remained as silent and still as a tree, her eyes on a leather sack cradled in her hands.

"Come on up, Sol," Tamatanga called out.

The goblin who was supposed to go next shrieked, "Hey, I'm supposed to be next!"

"Shaddup. Sol, you can cut through."

Sol shook her head and said, "It be impolite to cut. I be waitin' instead."

Tamatanga shrugged. "Have it your way. NEXT!"

Tamatanga rushed her customers through until it was finally Sol's turn. The troll knelt down to greet her.

"Hello, Tamatanga. I be sayin' goodbye."

Tamatanga jerked her head back in surprise. "Goodbye? Where you goin'?"

"Me teacher be goin' to fix Azeroth and bring back da rains. Da Earth Mudda be in pain. I be weak, but I be goin' with her to lend a hand. Where we be goin' is gonna be very dangerous, and…I wanted to give dis to ya before I go."

She opened the sack and pulled out the painted box. Tamatanga gasped as if Sol had punched her in the stomach.

Tamatanga covered her mouth and said through her fingers, "Oh Sol, no no no. I can't take that, I can't."

"I can't take it with me. Please take it. I gave Dikasara me snails, so I thought it be fair to give you da box. Ya can keep the treasures your son gives ya in here."

She opened it and showed her that the box was half-full of shells of every size and color. Engraved under the lid was a brief message in Troll, most likely her brother's words. Sol closed the lid and held it out to Tamatanga. Tamatanga swallowed hard and took the box.

"Thank you for thinking of me, but I hope you come back and take it back from me."

"Me too." Her blue eyes met Tamatanga's. "But if not, I'm glad dat we were friends, even if we not be friends for very long. It mean much to me."

"Same here. I've been meanin' to tell you, but my son loved the meat and cheese package you got him."

"Glad to hear it, and I hope he be comin' home alive soon. Good-bye Tamatanga."

"Good-bye, Sol."

The troll bowed pushed herself up and left Tamatanga and her box behind.

After work, Tamatanga took the box to Dikasara and asked her what the inscription on the box said. Dikasara sat with the box on a red sitting pillow and on the windowsill of her oval window that gave her a view of just about everything in Orgrimmar. Tamatanga sat next to her, her elbows resting on the smooth stone windowsill. Bacon couched himself between the two of them, listening to the spring winds that whistled by.

Dikasara cleared her throat and read out loud:

"I know that the night must end

And that the Sun will rise

I know that the clouds must clear

And that the Sun will shine"

The orc smiled gently and asked Tamatanga, "Do you know what the word for 'sun' is in Zandali?"

"Zandali, that's what trolls call their language?"

"Yeah."

Tamatanga thought for a moment and smiled herself. "It's 'Sol,' isn't it?"

"Yup."

They exchanged a glance and scratched Bacon's back, who grunted with happiness. Honey-gold sunlight washing over them before yielding to the twilight.

TTT

_Ma,_

_I know who my father is._ [inked out]  _I was told who he was, but I don't think you know who he is. It was Jaz. It was Jaz and he didn't tell you it was him. I'm sorry, Ma. I hope you don't take this as me breaking your trust to find out who my father was for sure, but I needed to know. What's funny is that I thought my father was Gallywix. I don't know what else to say but I'm sorry, Ma._

_Love you,_

_Fezzrik_

The letter wilted her Tamatanga's tight grip as she read it under the shade of her tent. Her mind whizzed and whirred as she reread the letter over and over and over again. Why the hell would he put it in a letter for just anyone to read—who would tell him this and why, why would they tell him this—

Nib.

_Nib._

Tamatanga stormed out of her tent and into the sweltering sun. The letter crushed in her curled fist, she stomped down the wide, curving dirt road toward Nogg's Machine Shop. The bleach blond weasel was taking a smoke and watching the orphans playing handball with a pig's bladder.

"Hey, Tamata—" he started but Tamatanga shoved him so hard he fell on his ass, cigeratte still in hand.

"YOU. ASSHOLE," she shouted in Goblin and threw the crumpled letter in Nib's face. "How dare you fuckin' tell Fezzrik Jaz is his father?"

Nib peeked at the letter. "I'm not seein' my name on this."

"Cut the bullshit or I swear on my last coin—"

"Ok, ok—" Nib said as he got up and stamped his cigarette out. He took a breath and said, "Maybe we should talk about this inside."

"Why, when you've probably told alllll of Orgrimmar about it except for me? How do you even know it was Jaz—"

"Because I saw him do it," he snorted and balled the letter in his fist. "That night I passed out in the room, and I woke up later when he brought you in the room. After the party he told me not to tell anyone about it, and I haven't, except for Fezzrik. I felt that I owed it to him."

A broiling ire rose up in Tamatanga and she spoke with a voice so sharp it could cut steel. "You knew this whole time. You knew when Fezzrik and I were starving in the streets. You knew when you called me a gold digger and slammed the door in face. You knew when you asked me to accept your worthless chickenshit of an apology. And yet, you felt it was Fezzrik who was owed the explanation, not me, you sack of shit."

"Look, I'd gotten to know the kid long before Kezan went under. And now that we're here in Orgrimmar, everytime I look at the kid, I see Jaz." He crossed his arms and scowled. He took a breath and continued, "He wouldn't be able to figure it out on his own, especially if you weren't going to tell him anything, so I told him myself."

"I didn't tell him anything because I was raped when I was passed out drunk, you idiot."

Silence fell over the whole street, stretching even to the orc orphans who didn't understand a word of what was being said. Nogg and the other engineers inside the shop stopped and watched them.

He scratched the white scrub on his chin. "You didn't tell him 'no,' so—"

Tamatanga clocked him and he fell on his ass a second time. This time he hopped up and punched her jaw. She stumbled back but lunged at him, screaming incoherently at him. They punched and kicked and pulled each other's hair and ears until the engineers rushed in and pulled them apart.

"All right break it up, BREAK IT UP," Nogg roared, holding Tamatanga back. The orc engineer picked Nib up and carried him up to the second floor of the shop. Nogg held on tightly to Tamatanga's shoulders and led her further out into the street. The orphans had fled back into the orphanage.

Nog held his arms akimbo and said, "I'm sorry, kid, but get out of here before the kor'kron come in and knock a few heads."

Tamatanga, still puffing hard after the fight, nodded and walked away. One of her braids hung loose and the knees of her stiff shorts were split, but she didn't care. Nib's last words still plunged deep in Tamatanga's soul like a harpoon. The more she tried to shake the words away, the angrier she felt.

She needed to write to Fezzrik and tell him her side of the story. Who knows what the hell Nib exactly told him, and he needed to know that she never asked for it, that she couldn't say no or yes or anything. When she arrived home she immediately started writing. Jaz's face floated in her memory, and she remembered the way he sat with legs wide open and he knew, damnit all he knew what he did to her and completely denied even touching her.

She dropped her pen and paper and covered her hands with her face, doubling over her knees and feeling like she was going to be sick. They were her friends, she was their friends, they were her friends. Everything was the same as it was fifteen years ago, only now Tamatanga was wiser for it. She wouldn't make the same mistake with Nib again.

Tamatanga had written her letter to Fezzrik and mailed within the week. The day after she mailed her letter, she received a small yellow envelope in the mail. Inside was a stiff yellow with a purple-typed message below:

MS. TAMATANGA BILGEWATER

THE ORGRIMMAR ARMY DEPARTMENT REGRETS TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR SON SCOUT FEZZRIK BILGEWATER WAS KILLED IN ACTION IN SERVICE OF THE HORDE. THE DEPARTMENT EXTENDS ITS DEEPEST SYMPATHIES FOR YOUR LOSS. HIS BODY HAS BEEN RECOVERED AND IS SCHEDULED TO ARRIVE IN ORGRIMMAR ON AUGUST 24 OF THIS YEAR.

It was August 18th, and mail took on average three weeks to get to Fezzrik. He probably died the day he sent his last letter, and she threw it in Nib's face. She didn't think to go back and get the letter.

It was too late now to get them both back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song excerpt is from "Endless Night" from Lion King Broadway.


	23. Tamatanga, Part 11

Tamatanga felt nothing.

Her eyes were dry, her bones hollow, her gut empty. She practically floated to Dika's home, the slight weight of skin anchoring her to ground. Dika handed her a beer and Tamatanga told her everything without popping off the cap, starting all the way from her rape that conceived her child to the brisk message about his death. Dika was into her third beer when Tamatanga finally wrapped it up.

Dika rubbed her thick black eyebrows and sighed. "I don't know what to say, except, I'm sorry."

Tamatanga's face twitched at the word "sorry". That twitch jerked her mouth into a half smile. "Funny thing is, I don't feel like cryin'. Or screamin'. Or anything."

"People grieve in different ways."

Tamatanga ignored her and uncapped her first beer. "I knew it was coming. As soon as he told me he'd join the military, I knew it was coming." She took a couple gulps of the citrusy beer and leaned back so the back of her head could rest on the windowsill. She closed her eyes and continued, "When he told me he'd be fighting elves, I knew it was coming. What's nine weeks of training to an elf who's been fighting before any of us were born? Damn, damn, I told him this would happen, Dika. I told him it didn't matter if one out of a hundred guys died, that guy could still be you."

"That's very true," Dika said softly.

"He knew it was true, too. I could see it in his eyes he knew it was true. He thought he'd be the ninty-nine to survive, though."

Silence fell over them.

"I'll come with you and help with the burial."

Tamatanga lifted her head and looked at Dika. "Can you?"

"Of course! I can bring Pakkar to bless his grave too."

"No. Just you. I don't want anyone else in this, and Fezzrik and I aren't religious anyway. Pakkar would be wasting his breath."

"Gotcha." Dika finished her beer. She stared at Tamatanga's necklace for a bit and said, "Y'know, I've been meaning to ask this, but what's up with that can tab around your neck?"

Tamatanga's fingers wrapped around the tab and squeezed. "Fezzrik made it for me after I gave him this necklace I made out of a bottle cap. I think he's lost his on the way over here, but I managed to keep hold of mine." She opened up her hand and gazed at the tab for a long while. "It's dented and rusting a bit, eh? I could replace it one of the billions of cola tabs there are out there, but this one's special to me."

Tears dotted her hand. Gingerly Dika took the beer bottle out of Tamatanga's hand and put it on the floor. Tamatanga grabbed Dika's strong arm when the realization of his death hit her in full force. Dika wrapped her arms around her and rest her chin on the goblin's silvering head. Tamatanga clung to her as she cried and choked on clear snot that dribbled from her nose and onto Dika's muslin shirt.

Warm darkness brought a little comfort to Tamatanga's stinging eyes. She cried until she was too worn out to cry anymore, but she still hung onto Dika. She felt the boar's warm, bristly girth press against her leg. Dika rubbed her knuckles against Tamatanga's tense back.

With a long, shuddering sigh, Tamatanga pulled away from Dika. She moved back to her spot in front of the window.

"Thanks," she croaked as she rubbed her eyes.

Dika smiled, her light brown eyes shiny. "No worries."

Tamatanga finished her beer in silence and grabbed a second. "I guess now the question is what to do after all this over."

"After the burial, I was going to go traveling again."

"Did you want me to watch the snails?"

"Ha, no. Actually, I'd like you to come with me."

"Come with you?"

"Yeah. Come with me on my adventures. You can eat all kinds of food, meet all sorts of people, see the world…all you need is some sort of mode of transportation that can keep up with my wolf. I could scrounge up everything else for you."

"I've never traveled before, and that slave ship doesn't count," she said, her arms crossed and her eyes still closed in thought.

"You're a resourceful and a hard working person, if your stories are true."

"I'm thirty years old."

Dika shrugged. "What better time to start than now?"

"I was planning on going to Ratchet when Fezz…when Fezz came back alive or not. The whole world, huh? Would I do that sort of 'adventurer' stuff you do?"

"You don't have to, but for me, it's half the fun."

There was nothing for her in Orgrimmar except for bad memories and a gob she wanted to hit repeatedly with a hammer. She felt bad that she couldn't get to know Mida very well since she became the Goblins Slum Boss, but she wasn't going to stick around in this sinkhole to try to be better friends with her. Leaving Orgrimmar was easy, but putting her neck out there to explore the world and hope that there would be work out there to put food in her belly and not get her killed? At least if she stayed in Ratchet she'd find a good job that'd fill her wallet without significantly raising her chances of being killed. She'd work during the day, drink at night, and start the whole thing over the next day.

Suddenly it seemed pointless and quite depressing to move away from Orgrimmar if she was just going to do the same damn thing in Ratchet.

Tamatanga opened her eyes and grinned. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I'll go with you, you crazy orc."

"Glad to hear it."

They clinked their beer bottles.

Tamatanga said, "I might be as useless as the snails we're bringing, but I'll go."

"You won't be useless. I've been meaning to bring a friend with me for a while now to share some adventures with, but no one's crazy enough to go with me."

A thought flashed in Tamatanga's head.

"If we bring Sol's things with us, if she comes back to Orgrimmar and we're gone—" she said but Dika cut her off.

"She'd go on a warpath to get her snails back. Trust me, she'll find us or let us know she wants her pets back."

"I hope she's okay."

"Me too. Want the last beer?"

"I will if you won't."

Dika laughed and handed her the warm beer out of the wicker basket by their feet, and together they started to plan their new adventure to get their minds off of the bleak afternoon.

TTT

Tamatanga just caught Mida Silvertongue before the tall goblin could get into her office: a bruiser-guarded pyramid of corrugated steel painted blue with a bolted door. Mida's dark red eyebrows crumpled when Tamatanga touched her clipboard, but she threw a glare at the approaching bruisers and they sulked back to their positions.

"This better be important," she said with a smile, but her tone showed her irritation.

"Is me quittin' important enough?"

Annoyance and frustration on Mida's tone morphed into bewilderment.

"What? Get in here and explain yourself."

Tamatanga continued talking as Mida opened the door and led her down the narrow, windowless hallway to the only room in the house, which was perfectly cube-shaped. A large metal desk with two swivel chairs attached to it was bolted to the floor, surrounded by tall gray metal cabinets that were labeled in alphabetical order.

"Well Mida, it's been grand working with you, but I'm burying my boy on the 24th and leaving Orgrimmar the next day."

"Sit down," Mida said as she sat in the larger of the two chairs. She put her elbows on the table and cupped her hands around her chin. "Where are you goin'?"

Tamatanga threw her hands up. "Wherever my friend goes. She's an adventurer by trade, and I thought I'd tag along."

"That's a good way to get yourself killed for very little pay."

"Like mother like son."

Mida rapped her fingers on the table once.

"I'm sorry about your kid."

"Me too."

After Mida scribbled a note on her clipboard she said, "All right, I'll have you working 'til the 22nd. Come see me after work that day and I'll give you your last paystub."

"Thanks."

"Have you checked to see if your son had death insurance?"

"No, I haven't," Tamatanga said with a stiffening jaw.

"Go to the Hall of the Brave in the Valley of Honor and ask about it. Get every copper you can before you take one foot out of Orgrimmar."

It was good advice to get, but not the kind Tamatanga wanted to hear. "I will, thanks."

Mida reached her hand out and Tamatanga shook it.

"Send a postcard now and then, yeah?" Mida said, always with the same polished smile.

"Yeah. It's been good workin' with ya. See ya 'round," Tamatanga said and waved as she walked away.

"Keep your head up, Tamatanga," Mida replied.

Tamatanga turned and the smile on Mida's face was gone and replaced with a frown.

"I will," she answered before straightening up to walk out from the warm metal walls and into the twilight of Orgrimmar.

TTT

Fezzrik returned to Orgrimmar at 8:36 a.m. on August 24th.

Despite the intense heat in the Valley of Strength, he didn't stink. He smelled like he drowned in a vat of formaldehyde, but he didn't smell like some indefinable rot. Tamatanga had to give the embalmer credit for sewing up the crack across his skull so neatly and then powdering it with a face powder only a shade lighter than his skin color. She wondered if it was that undead friend of his that patched him up, cleaned his leathers and chainmail, and packed him up in the flimsy wood casket.

His bottle cap necklace lay on his still chest. Tamatanga stared at it with eyes itching to cry. She thought he'd lost it ages ago, but somehow he managed to keep a hold of it without her knowing. There was so much she didn't know about him.

"Is Fezz in there?" she heard Nib say in Goblin behind her.

Her breath caught in her throat and she gripped the side of the casket.

Dika, who was standing next to her, said, "Who're you?"

"Tamatanga, is Fezzrik in there?" he asked again, but his voice cracked on the last word.

Not today. Not. Today.

"Tamatanga—" he started.

She stood up and snapped back at him, "What do you think?"

Nib stared back at her with red eyes sunken under layer upon layer of saggy green skin. His bleach blond hair looked more like white spun sugar barely clinging onto his scalp. Tamatanga couldn't pick too much at him because she knew she looked like hell too with more silver than teal in her hair and permanent bags under her eyes.

He said, "I'm sorry, Tamatanga."

"Just leave us both alone, you stalking asshole."

"I wasn't stalking you. I had breakfast at the Broken Tusk and when I left I see all these caskets and you kneeling next to one."

"Go away," she said in Orcish.

Dika bared her tusks and stamped the butt of her long shovel on the hard earth. Sweat ran down Nib's forehead, but he still stood his ground.

"Can I see him, please?"

Tamatanga glared at him, and was about to have Dika kick his ass halfway across Orgrimmar but he kept talking.

"Just for a minute, let me see him," he added, trembling as if a chilled wind was passing through. "I need to see that he's really dead, Tamatanga. We didn't see Flash and Jaz and…I need to see him, please. Please."

Dika glanced down at Tamatanga, an eyebrow slightly raised in silent question. Tamatanga continued to glare at Nib. She wanted to smirk and tell him no and laugh as Dika chucked him into the Southfury River. It'd be fitting, really, to deny him a fact and then rub it in his face. He completely deserved that sort of treatment, and it'd be one glorious "fuck you" before she left Orgrimmar for good.

Her gut told her not to do it.

She had skimmed through his collection of letters he kept in the meat and cheese box, and a lot of those letters had been from Nib. There almost as many letters from Nib as there were from her. Clearly there was some sort of friendship between the two, and one that Tamatanga was not privy too. She only hoped Nib had been a better friend to her son than he was to her.

"You got thirty seconds," she said as she side-stepped to the foot of the casket.

Nib nodded to her and stood next to the head of the casket, looking down at Fezzrik's stiff face. Dika and Tamatanga exchanged another glance with each other, Dika looking sympathetic towards her. Tamatanga turned away and observed the dour scene of forty or so caskets in various sizes being wept over by orcs, trolls, tauren, and goblins before being sealed up and carried away to the graveyard outside of Orgrimmar or at the graveyard in the Valley of Wisdom.

Just as Tamatanga turned to tell Nib his time was up, he already had his fists in his pockets and plodded away into the growing crowd of mourners. Dika watched him as he went on his way.

"Is that that Nib character you were tellin' me about?"

"Yeah," Tamatanga replied as she kneeled down to look at Fezzrik one last time. His wide ears were slightly bent so he could fit in the casket. Tamatanga reached out and touched the tips of his cold ears. She picked herself up and wiped her nose with her arm.

"I guess it's time to nail him up, huh?" she asked Dika.

"Whenever you're ready."

"I'll never be ready."

Dika gripped Tamatanga's shoulder for a moment before replacing the lid on Fezzrik's casket. Tamatanga took out a hammer attached to her belt and hammered down each peg. Without a word Dikasara lifted the casket and held it on her shoulder when it would've taken at least four goblins to lift it.

They marched outside of Orgrimmar and to the ever-expanding graveyard just off the path leading away from the city and to the sea. Tamatanga found Fezzrik's metal headstone with his name, birth and death dates, and the Horde sigil announcing to the world that he had served in the Horde army. Tamatanga untied the spade hanging next to her hammer on her belt and started digging. Dika gingerly lowered Fezzrik's casket and helped Tamatanga dig. They dug until the sun was hanging high and hot in the sky.

"It feels nice in here," Tamatanga panted. The earth felt cool between her toes. "Maybe you should bury me instead of Fezzrik."

Dika only laughed at that. She picked up Tamatanga out of the hole and hopped out of it afterwards. The orc secured the casket with a bundle of silk rope she kept in her pocket.

"That's gonna break," Tamatanga said, but Dika just laughed.

The rope held as Dika lowered the casket into the deep (for a goblin) hole, and had not one kink in it after it was untied and yanked back into Dika's hands. The two looked down at the lonely casket at the bottom of the shady hole.

In a lowered voice, Dika asked, "Did you want to say anything?"

"I said what I had to say when he was alive. Do you want to say anything?"

"Hmm." She tapped her chin with her forefinger for a moment. She folded her arms back and said with all sincerity, "Well, Fezzrik, all I can say is that I knew you best from the stories your mother told me about you. It's a shame you died young, it's a shame you died at all, but I'm glad you were here, even if it was for a short time."

Tamatanga swallowed hard and said, "That was nice. Now let's finish this."

They finished burying him within the hour. Dika remarked that they she would bring flowers next time. Tamatanga bowed her head and cradled in the can tab in her hand. She was relieved that the terrible task was done, but anxiety grew in her as she thought about the new task she would have to take on.

TTT

Before daybreak the next morning, Tamatanga rode to Fezzrik's grave on her new trike, her freshly teal dyed braids whipping in the wind. With her savings and the sizeable amount she got from Fezzrik's death insurance, she was able to afford a brand new trike with an extra seat in the back built specifically for Sol's two snails. Her bike was also well packed with equipment Dika recommended for a long journey, but she also hid Sol's box and Fezzrik's journal and letters in a special compartment in her seat. Fezzrik's journal came as a bittersweet surprise to her when she went to pick up his stuff. Within its pages she knew she could see another side of Fezzrik she hadn't seen before, but at the same time she wasn't able to bring herself to read it. She teared up just thinking about seeing the familiar handwriting. Right now, everything was too raw. She needed time and distance.

She stood at the foot of his grave. Clear, lavender sky stretched above her. Quiet desert surrounded her. She looked back at Orgrimmar and could just catch the faint cacophony of its denizens rolling out of bed and getting ready for the day. Dika would be at the gates soon, as they agreed to meet at dawn. Already in the east the sky melted into a rosy-gold as the sun peeked up from the waterline.

Tamatanga turned back to look down at the grave and kneeled down to scoop some fresh dirt into a small leather pouch. She stuck it in the hidden pocket of the new kodo leather jacket she wore over her thin white tank top with a picture of a pineapple painted on it in black ink.

"I'll be seein' ya, Fezz," she told him.

She turned and mounted her trike, energized with a primal urge to get moving. She had no idea where she would go, or where it would lead her, or whether she would survive, but she did know that she had to keep moving. She revved up her engine, punched in the clutch, and bolted towards the gate.

The day was just beginning and she had a long journey ahead of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of Tamatanga's story, Leda's is next. Thanks for reading!


End file.
